Big Brother Brian
by CuriTeaist
Summary: Season one through Brian's perspective. Pretty self-explanatory.
1. Dexter

**AN**: Few things to know about this story.

First, this is completed and stored on my computer. This means two things. One, there is no chance of me getting bored and leaving this forever unfinished. Two, if you give me any constructive criticism, while it will be appreciated and noted for any future projects, there is a good chance I won't edit this story accordingly.

Second, I've always had an issue with typos. I've tried my best to fix them, but there is a good chance I didn't get them all. If this proves to be a problem, inform me, and I'll get someone else to read it over. If you want to beta this, then all the better, you're an angel.

Third, this is rated M for good reason. Pretty much the same stuff Dexter is rated M for. Mild sexual situations, nothing graphic though, some violence, I get slightly more graphic there, although still not too bad, and dark themes. About the dark themes, since this is through Brian's perspective, and since he lacks any moral code, they tend to be darker than in the series(And this is purely series based, no book). I tried to stay away from his more kinky habits, but it will come up from time to time. You are warned.

Fourth, this follows the series to the absolute best of my abilities. There are some small, minor things that are off, and I'd place money that no one will notice, but I tried really hard on following things exactly. This means if something happens in the show that I feel is OOC or just plain out of place, I still put it in and work with it. On the same note, I've noticed that BrianXDexter is a fairly popular pairing, as far as Brian stories go, but don't get your hopes up. There is nothing in here that explicitly has slash. However, Brian does clearly care for Dexter very much, and even though I keep this affection purely brotherly, I'm not going to hunt to down if you read between lines a little bit, if you so choose. In fact, I don't even care if you do.

And the chapter are long, FYI. This one is over 8,000 words, the longest for a while. Towards the end, however, they get back up around 8,000 words for an average. Longest one is slightly over 10,000 words. Twelve chapter total, one for every episode, and each are named accordingly.

Disclaimer: I own nothing within this story, not even the plot.

**- Story Begins Here -**

I'm almost-happy. Being a sociopath and all, I don't really get happy, but right now there is a fluttering in my stomach. The good kind. That's close, right? This is a rare occurrence really. Well, at least considering the circumstances it is. I usually only feel this way when I have a whore hanging upside-down, begging for life. I know, it's not a healthy was to spend my spare time, but please, refer back to the sociopath thing. However, as it seems, I'm not the only one around that likes to spend their spare time on the wrong side of the law. I watched as my little brother - and I'm _sure_ he's the right one this time - drove about Miami running bizarre errands for the past few days. First it was a choir recital. Granted, I didn't know too much about him. A blood splatter annalist for Miami Metro Homicide, quiet, keeps to himself, girlfriend, sister. Well, a fake one that is. The choir confused me, to say the least. Then he broke into a home. That raised some question. Don't get me wrong, I'm not judgmental. I'm in no place to lecture anyone on morals. But it was odd, for a seemingly upstanding citizen. He didn't even take anything. Just entered, and a few minutes later, he left. I wish I could have viewed him through the walls, but I had to keep my distance. No, I couldn't let him see me. So I kept my distance, watching silently from across the street. Today, however, he really upped the ante. He kidnapped a man. Waited in the back of his car after another recital, used a wire to choke him, and had him drive deep into the woods to a deserted building. Definitely not an upstanding citizens. It's all lining up now though, as my dear little brother grabs the man and screams, "Open your eyes and look at what you did!". The fluttering turns into an intense tingle, as I know what's coming. It's not long after that he jams a needle into his prey's neck, causing him to fall to the floor. He stands there for a few more moments. He gives a casual sniff, looking down at the unconscious man, telling me, showing me, that this is nothing new for him. A devious grin spreads across my face. I really like this.

We are one of the same, he and I. This is no coincidence, you see. I was six, and he was three, when it happened. Our mother was a single parents, and that means she had to work hard. For some, this means getting two full-time jobs. For others, our mother included, this means a little bit of trading of the illegal variety. This worked out well, all in all. It kept food on the table, and kept mother's addiction less of a financial strain. Really, we only got into her stash once. And she tended to use out of home, so we didn't see her high as a kite a whole lot. This is a good thing, I guess. Although looking back, it probably wouldn't have done any additional damage. Me and my brother - I'm still giddy at that thought - are pretty much as messed up as we can get. That's because we saw something a million times worse than our mother on cocaine. I remember the day very well. Does Dexter, my brother, remember? I'll have to see, although it's looking like he doesn't. How our mother brought us with her to a drug exchange, when she usually left us behind. I'm not sure why, but sometimes she did bring us with her. We typically stayed in the car though, Dexter and I. One day we didn't. I remember it all so clearly. Mother was scared that day, so she wanted us to stay near. I remember as she crept closer to the big metal box, a shipping container, I now know. I remember the way she clutched my hand too tight, but I didn't want to say anything. It was quiet, and even at the tender age of six, I knew it needed to remain quiet. Dexter was behind my, holding me for dear life. He was scared too. "Biney-" He started -his attempt to say my real name, Brian-. He was three, too young to know that it needed to stay quiet.

"Shh!" I interrupted not letting him get another word out. He whimpered, not use to me scolding him, but remained quiet. I remember how I felt sorry about that. It didn't help his fright, but I was too worried to be a good big brother. The real excitement didn't happen until we got inside though. She was almost there, then someone came behind. There was yelling, screaming, Dexter crying. He herded us into the container. There were five other men in there. Three kneeling on the ground, two standing in front them, one with a chainsaw. Our mother was pushed down next to the other three men kneeling down. The standing people were mad. The chainsaw roared, like a blood-thirsty beast. It dug and tore into flesh, spending blood everywhere. How it disassembled the human body. Turned a walking, talking person into a pile of flesh in a puddle of blood. The screams of the men, and finally our mother. They all died down, even the chainsaw quieted to a gentle hum. All that was left was a child's scream. Dexter. "What about the kids?" a voice echoed out. I didn't take note who. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the limbs. They were lying everywhere. Pieces of people. Pink and yellow and white and brown pieces of people in blood. It reminded me of minestrone soup. I wasn't hungry.

"Leave them to rot" another voice muttered, and then there was the bang of the door being shut. Dexter was still screaming. I turned to him.

"Don't cry. It'll be okay" I said because that's what you say to a crying three year old. It didn't help at all. I stepped my game up. "Don't worry, the doctors will come and make things better." I say, glad when he finally calms down. He looked confused, skeptical even.

"Doctors will fix her owie?" He asks. I looked back at mother. Well, all the pieces that I could identify as her anyway. No, the doctors cannot fix that.

"Yep! Don't you remember watching them on TV?" I smiled with all the confidence in the world, and it hurt. Dexter didn't need to know that she was gone. I was being a good big brother then. And so we waited. I'm not sure for what. For whatever came first, death, police, the chainsaw. It's not like there was anything else to do. We just sat there, blood everywhere, piece of flesh thrown across the room. The blood solidified, and in some places dried. But in all too many places it was too deep to dry. As it turns out, the first thing to come came two days later in the form of the police. Two days too late really. A body can decompose a lot within two days, especially in Miami heat. A man came in, all dressed in blue. The police. He was taken aback. I still wonder why. The blood? The body parts? Or was it the two little boys in it all? It didn't take long for him to recover. He walked carefully around an arm and a head to Dexter. He picked up my little brother and started to leave. I tried to follow. Dexter was all I had left, he needed me. But two days without food or water had taken a toll on me, and I fell before I could take a step. The policeman looked back at me briefly, guilt plastered on his face, before leaving me alone.

Others came and left, and before I knew it I was in a white room. Whenever I asked where Dexter was, they told he was in good hands. When I asked to see him, they told me no. When I asked why not, they ignored me. I never did see Dexter again. I never left the white rooms. I always stayed in a hospital of some sort. I remember the anger that followed. I wanted to kill them all. I wanted them dead. Even people who I never meet before, I wanted to kill. To cause pain. I hated everybody. Still do.

But I'm smarter than that. It didn't take long to figure out I needed to pretend. I pretended that I didn't want to kill them all. That wasn't enough for them. I needed to learn to smile, to laugh, to play nice. But Doctor Williams always saw through me. My therapist. He was more of like the bane of my existence, really. Same thing, at least for people like me. He picked my brain. Fake smiles and forced laughs did nothing with him. He always saw straight through them. It wasn't until my later teen years that I was able to fool him. It wasn't easy you see. He knew I lied, faked everything. So I had start a new plan. I showed my anger for the first time in years. It felt good, really. To no longer fake it, to peel back the mask and show what I am on the inside. It's from there that I had to build up. I went back to faking, but a whole new kind. I no longer faked simple emotions, such as happiness on pudding day, or disappointment when a bad rerun came on the TV. I faked complex interactions. I faked happiness not just for pudding, but when someone tried to befriend me. Disappointment came with rejections from a pretty girl. That was how I finally managed to convince my therapist that I was normal.

The sweet day of freedom came when I was twenty-one. You're a bloody-thirsty sociopath that just got released into the real world for the first time in your life, what do you do first? If you answered 'Go on a killing spree', give yourself a pat on the back and a cookie. My first time was awkward, but aren't they always?

I was free, and I didn't want to lose it. My time in containment taught me restraint well. Prostitutes, I decided, were my ideal prey. They go missing so often, and it's normal for no one to care when they do. They just hop into your car, and let you take them anywhere. Too easy, really. But I'm not doing it for the challenge. My first kill was in an empty house I had earlier scoped out. I didn't expect to actually use her services, but it's very hard to get into paranoid schizophrenics' beds, and that's all they had back at the mental institution. To say that I had blue balls would be an understatement. Luckily I can prepared with a condom. I don't need an STD, or to leave my DNA in her. I didn't pretend this time though, like I had to in prior experiences. Oh no, I let my anger and hatred flow. There was no one around to hear her screams, I made sure of that too. When I was done using her body, she knew what was coming. Bloodied, beaten, crying, she wanted out. And my God, how I loved the way she begged me to let her go. I loved it even more when her eyes shifted to pure and unadulterated terror when she realized asking nicely wasn't going to get her freedom.

The sex was quick and fierce, but I took my time after that. A hack saw was my tool of choice. I began cutting off her left leg, but stopped before I could sever a major artery. No, bleeding out wouldn't do any good. I love the way she screamed and begged, I didn't want to end that so soon. I went to the right leg, stopped before she would bleed out again, but still leaving a deep cut that went completely around her leg. Then her arms, ankles after that. I got so caught up in my fun that I didn't notice the silence. I stopped my work, reaching out to feel her neck. Lifeless. No point in holding back now. I continue, cutting major arteries, and even full limbs off. It's was thrilling, intoxicating, and I needed more. But my time in the mental institution taught me well. Patience, self-restraint, and attention to detail will keep me going and free.

I regained control of my rushing mind. There was blood everywhere. Not that it mattered, it was the police's mess then. Still, my inner neat-freak cried. I'd have to find a cleaner way. Blood is such a messy substance...I grabbed the saw, hoped I didn't leave any hair, and turned to leave. With that I was gone from the crime scene.

Life was not all about killing though. I needed to blend in, to act the part. I stole the identity of a plumber, Rudy Cooper. Turns our known a sociopath doesn't do well in the real world. I needed a career, and the answer was obvious. Call me a pervert, I'm labeled worse things, but I love amputees. An acrotomophilia. Clinical, I know, but I've lived in hospitals my whole life. Medical terms are the only terms for me. A few years and a degree later, I was Rudy Cooper, Prosthetist. But life was not complete. A little boy screaming in a puddle of blood haunted me. I wondered, was my little brother like me? I couldn't bring myself to believe so. He was young. Did he even remember? He wasn't put in the institute with me, so one must presume he didn't need to be in a institute. Still, I felt obliged to find him, see what he made of his life. With that said, a new kind of hunt began. Dear darling Dexter, big brother Brian is coming to find you. I searched for a Dexter Moser in Miami, Tampa, and all over Florida. I searched for any DMV records of Dexter Moser in several states. Nothing. It's was almost like he disappeared off the face of the earth.

Looking back on it, I feel stupid about it. Of course Dexter Moser no longer exists. If he wasn't institutionalized, he must have been adopted. It took me too long to figure this out, but when I did, I returned to Miami. The place where we were raised. A good place to start. The problem then became, Dexter who? I had tracked down several people, best guesses really, but after the fourth not-brother, it just became pathetic. I decided to make sure next time.

My biggest hint came from the complete lack of hints. There were no records. Nothing. I planned to start with the police report filed about mother's untimely death, but it wasn't there. Nothing was there, no records of a Dexter Moser anywhere. Someone destroyed the files, worked hard to cover up Dexter's past. Everything was gone, all but a few newspaper articles. But they contained all I needed. 'A brutal murder. First on the scene, Harry Morgan. Diligent cop who took in the young child caught in the middle!' No mention of any other children in the shipping container. I wondered if that was intentional. Someone worked hard to erase the existence of Dexter Moser. I wanted to have a chat with this Harry Morgan. I was actually disappointed to find out that he was dead. Okay, only because I wanted to kill him myself. But still.

Dexter Morgan. With a name, came an address. A profession. A life. After all that work tracking him down, I couldn't just walk up to him, tell him I'm his brother, and leave. Never, I felt like playing. Besides, he was one of my lasts ties to the real work. Him and father. Father doesn't like me though. Will Dexter? I have to wonder.

And so my plan was formed. I don't know how much he remembers, but I'll make sure he remembers it all. You see, this is another reason why I'm lying down in the woods, peeking through a window to watch my little brother cut up another man, grinning like a mad man. I planned on playing a game with him. The problem is, sociopaths play a different kind of game than normal people. I'd leave bodies laying around. My bodies are unique, you see. I cut the throat, drain the blood from the, cut the body into pieces, and then freeze them in liquid nitrogen. I'd usually dispose of both the body and blood out of the public's eye. Getting caught is not part of my plan. Ever.

But I'd take a risk for Dexter. I'd leave the bodies in the open. I'd give him hints, single him out, make sure he knows this is all for him. The problem is - or was - when a serial killer starts playing with a normal person, they freak out. Call the cops, get surveillance, witness protection program. All that shit. That's why I'm so lucky Dexter isn't a normal person.

Before, I was just collecting blood. I placed the bodies, two so far, out of his district, so he wouldn't worry about them just yet. Phase one of my plan was a reminder. I was collecting blood to paint the walls, to replicate our...rebirth, it can be called. The day mother died. Then, once he knew that I knew about his past, I'd start leaving the bodies closer to him. I want him to know about my kill count. Well, two is a far cry from the real count, but to know that I kill. A lot.

But now that I know we are two of the same, this will be really fun.

And here we are. I wonder though, why did he dig up the dead bodies for his kill? It seems to be some sort of avenging thing. He is punishing this man. If Dexter didn't move with such ease and grace, I'd think this was a one-time thing. A murder out of passion. Did he know one of the children? Is so, why did he dig up all of the bodies? What sort of connection does he have? I don't know. I'll find out later. He takes pleasure in killing though. There is a small room with walls of plastics, that he works in. Everything is coated in plastic it seems. He cuts the man's face, and appears to take some blood and put it in something. A blood slide, mostly likely. A trophy. It's all hard to see through the blue of plastic. I do see, however, that he does take a lot of joy in his kill. A lot more then he should. Then again, he _should _take no joy in killing. So says society. I think differently. I say let society crumble.

He works with such diligence, patience, grace. It's bloody, gore everywhere. Dirty. Blood is such a dirty substance. I see why he sets up a disposable kill room. He makes such a mess, there is no hope of cleaning it up. I prefer my home freezer, it's always kept tidy. I like things clean. It probably comes from being raised in institutions and hospitals. Sterile environments. Cleanliness is next to godliness. The down side is that my immune system sucks. When I come down with something, I come down hard.

It doesn't seem that Dexter lived like that though. He had a home, a life, normalcy, a family. A fake one. I'm his family. Well, there's our father. He never was much of a father though. And mother is gone. It's just us now. Sure, he had a fake life. A disguise, a costume. I know because he is like me. Empty.

He cuts up the body. The poor guy is long dead. Blood is everywhere. Dexter seems to be just finishing up. I sense this is a good time to leave. It's be bad for him to catch me here. So I trudge through the Florida forest. It's dark and eerily. There is fog hiding what little the darkness cast by the dense canopy above doesn't. A normal person would be afraid. Afraid of some psychotic killer jumping out and butchering them. Afraid of me. No, the hunter have no reason to fear the night. The night is our friend.

I parked my car away from Dexter's. He works for forensics. He is specially trained to look at stuff like tire tracks and revel the story behind them. No point in senseless risks. Not yet. We have a long game ahead of us. Yes, I'll kill the girls, place them near him, single him out - perhaps leave something in his apartment - and show him I'm friendly.

Oh yes, this is going to be fun.

I get in my car. Well, a car. I don't use my car for illegal stuff. Only idiots do that. Licensee plate number goes back to Rudy Cooper. Problem is, Rudy Cooper is a dead plumber from New Jersey. No, stealing a car is better. I usually return it without the owners knowing. If not, it's not a problem. Car thieves are a minor concern for the Miami police force. Never investigated.

I leave the head-lights off as I slowly get out. I stole a Hybrid. People think they are for pussies, but they are actually very useful for serial killers and other such people. Keep under five miles an hour and they're quiet. Good for sneaking, such as now. I pull onto the main road and turn the head light on. I've left the danger zone.

I think while I drive. I have a lot to think about now. Dexter is like me. A killer. I still need to figure out what exactly this means. Before, I just imagined reminding him about what happened to his mother. I didn't plan on killing him. No, I wouldn't do that. But I also didn't plan on showing him my face. I'd just go in, remind me, show him that his brother his still around - Brian Moser is a name of the past anyway - and leave. But things are different now. I still intend to remind him that his mother is gone, but his brother is here. But leaving? I think that might need tweaking. At least I don't intend to leave alone. A companion would be a nice change. Because even sociopaths need love too.

It also changes how I go about the game. It's liberating. I can fully play. He won't panic, I'm sure of it. He won't if I don't come out strong. No, friendly messages only. At least to start with. Just until he understands the game. I'll leave the bodies in the open. I'll continue to collect the blood for my little surprise for him. He likes blood. I'm sure he'll like it. I could give him dolls, little versions of my bodies. I'll place them in his home. That'll effectively single him out.

But enough of that. It's time. I'm on the hunt now. I'm excited, I want this game to start. It all begins with me. Fir things first, I need a whore.

And I get one. She is a burnet, dressed in skimpy cloths, so allow men to properly gauge is value. "Hey hot shot, looking for a good time" She asks as I pull up next to her.

"What's your price?" I ask, although I have no intention of paying her. But if I don't ask, it'll raise suspicion.

"Tell you what, you're cute. Thirty for a full ride" She winks at me and leans in closer, showing off her cleavage. She does have some nice tits.

"Get in" Still as gullible as always. She gets into my car. I'm careful to show my face only to her. I don't want anyone describing the man this whore was last seen with. I take her to my home. It's big, neat, tidy, and best of all, has a built in massive freezer used for the butchering and freezing of women just like the one in my company now. I use her services. I've learned to take is easier. I'm still rough with them, but not abnormally so. I've learned that I can't always kill them, and I don't need them out in the street talking about how violent I am.

So I take is easy. This whore is experienced. Not only does she know how to do things right, but she doesn't complain with my violence. I feel that she deserve a reward. Her death will be quick. She starts to redress. I get up and grab her neck, strangling her. "Where do you think you're going?" She struggles, but is out soon enough. I haul her to my freezer. Everything is set up. I put her on my table, strap her in, and grab the table's remote. It slowly goes up, until she is upside-down. I got this thing at a yard sale. Fifty bucks. So worth it.

I decide not to wait for her to wake. She's been good, and I have a lot to do tonight. And work tomorrow. No, I want to sleep tonight. I place the blood bucket under her and grab a knife. I don't wait for her to wake up, but I still take my time, enjoying the kill. I trace the Carotid Artery with the blade. A quick jab, and she is dead. The blood drains into the bucket. The human body contains so much blood. We really are just giant sacks of the messy stuff. Well, little miss prostitute doesn't have any blood left. I add various chemicals to the blood. Something to preserve it, and another thing to stop it from clotting. Gotta keep it good for Dexter. With the blood removed and dealt it, I place it off to the side, alone with all the other blood. I label it, mostly because I need to be organized like that. A name gotten from her license is all. That's all I need to gather more information if necessary. I turn back to the girl. I have a ritual to complete. I wonder what exactly is Dexter's ritual? Several stalking sessions, a breaking and entering, along with a murder inside a personal-plastic coated kill room. But there has to be more to it. A question for later.

I cut the girl into pieces. I'm just finishing up her legs when I notice the time. It's past three in the morning. I forgo the last cut. I can't waste anymore time. I freeze the pieces in liquid nitrogen. Gives them a nice look to them. I wrap select pieces, and they are good to go. I put the body, a long with a table to put the body on, in the Hybrid. I drive off to a cheap motel with a drained swimming pool. By the time I get there it's almost four, and I'm dragging ass. I need to get to bed. All the more reason to hurry this along. I go into the drained pool, place the table, and put the body on it. I line up the pieces just so, so that it's clear she was human. A human body chopped up into pieces and put into a pile isn't the most easy thing identify. And I want the world to know what this is. But mostly importantly, I want Dexter to know what this is. This is all for him, after all. Finally the body is dealt with. Now all that is left is the car. I stole it outside of some old lady's house. I return it there too, without anyone knowing. Aren't I such a good person? I parked a few blocks down. This gives me a drowsy ten minute walk. I need sleep.

I get in my car. I hope I don't doze off at the wheel. No, I won't. I'm tired, but I can't sleep in a non-sleep appropriate place. The driver's seat is one of them. I'm tired as I drive back, but I get back in one place. Finally. Bed. I collapse onto my bed. Thank God for a good mattress. I wonder what kind of mattress Dexter has? But the thought leaves and my mind goes blank.

I know it's a cliché for killers, and something to be avoided, but I return to the crime-scene the next morning. I waited near-by, not wanting to be the bodies discoverer, thus connecting my name with the killing, but wanting to be a curious pedestrian when Dexter gets here. I needed to know, would he find my work impressive? Or would he be disturbed? Sure, he is a sociopathic killer like myself, but that doesn't automatically mean he'll respect a fellow traveler.

I mull about the outside of the no-questions motel. I'm late for work, but oh well. I have better places to be. Like here. The motel is a disgusting light orange, there are trees around, but they are clearly not part of the landscape. Just trees that they didn't want to spend money on to remove when building this place. A man in his early thirties wearing a blue shirt turns to me. "Do you think someone died?" He asks. A curious by-stander, just like me.

"I don't know maybe. Hope not" I expertly interject concern and sympathy into my voice. A deep frown for my worry and knitted brows to show my confusion. Oh yes, I'm a good citizen, a curious and worried member of society.

"A prostitute maybe. This motel looks like the place for that kind of stuff." Blue-Shirt Man doesn't seem very concerned about said whore's well-being. Clearly he isn't as good of a citizen as me.

"It's sad, isn't it? These girls with hopes and dreams forced to sell their body. Then something goes wrong, and it's all over." It is sad. I acknowledge that. I just don't feel it. Society tells me what is right and wrong, and I act the part. With perfection, might I add. Doctor Williams, that asshole, didn't help me get better, but he did help me learn. When you can fool your therapists, you can fool anyone.

"Who does that? Who feels the need to end a life like that?" Blue-Shirt asks. My Hate-O-Meter just jumped. He doesn't know it, but he's insulting me. I want to tell him I did the girl, and the world, a favor. One less bitch polluting the world. God, I hate people. Everyone. I really, really wish I could kill everyone. I wonder how hard it is to get a hold of nuclear weapons.

"Some sick fuck" I say with anger. Gotta act the part. I look at my watch. Where is Dexter? Police are all over the place. Why wouldn't he come? He works for forensics. They are always needed.

Oh. That's right. A blood splatter analyst. And I didn't leave any blood. Fuck. He probably won't show. I sigh. I'm late enough as is for work. I turn to leave, but there he is. He walks a few feet away from me and strolls past the yellow tape. A policeman moves to stop him, but he flashes his - his laminate? No love for the lab geeks apparently. Still, I prefer that over a badge. Less police-like. I don't want him to be too much of a good guy.

He goes towards a whore waving to him from a room. I do a double-take. A hooker? In broad daylight? In the middle of a crime scene? Surely something else is going on. I didn't even peg him for the guy who used hookers. My hunch about him proves right though. He leaves the room a just few minutes later. Puzzling, but I'll figure it out later. He goes straight from the room to inside the drained pool - and out of my sight.

My dear little baby brother, I wonder. Does he remember me, mother, the shipping container? Did his fake-parents tell him? Doubtful, after all the lengths they went through to hide it. Or were they hiding his past the world, rather than Dexter himself? So many questions. Does he even know he was adopted? Does he only kill bad guys? I'd imagine so, he was so self-righteous last night, sociopath or not, he can't be that hypocritical.

It's an odd and foreign thought. The idea of a companion. A brother in arms and blood. I like the idea. We are the same. Birthed by the same mother, and born again by her death. The same. There is a new connection now. A sense of equality and respect. I wonder, does me respect me and my work as well? I have my answer when he leaves the scene. A look of bewilderment, briefly broken by a forced smile in return to a woman winking at him while talking to some reporters, that slowly turns into amazement. I grin; yes, he respects my work. But, will he respect me?

Time will only tell.

I get into my car and go to work. I turn the radio on to classic rock. I wonder what music Dexter likes? I remember I got my taste for old-school rock from my father. We would always be playing it. I don't remember a whole lot about him, but I remember the music. Good old Rock and Roll.

I pull into the parking lot of the hospital. I've been in them my entire life. They've become somewhat of a happy place for me. Clean, white, pristine. I love how people are dying. Moans and groans of pain. Entire lives just minutes away from ending. But what I love most of all are the staff. It's the only place in the world that a person can look down at another person in agony and pain and smile. Smile! Gotta brighten the mood. All the death is dampening the mood. We smile to cheer up the dying, to reassure the family. That's what we have to do. Smile, you're going to die.

Needless to say, I usually enjoy my job too, long with the environment. There is just something about human flesh. They way it all works together, along with the way it's taken apart. I enjoy it. I enjoy cutting people into pieces at night, and then putting pieces back on people during the day. How human body parts be cut off and replaced with plastic and metal. How the new limbs can come off and back on with ease. Beautiful. I love it all. Not now though. I feel the need to watch my newly-discovered brother. I was only mildly interested in what he does with his spare time before, barely paying attention to his routine. But now, now he is my true brother. A person who can relate, understand, and perhaps even join me in the hunt one day. I think I would like that. A companion. A brother. But before I can gain his companionship, I need to learn his ways. To learn his ways, I have to watch him. And I can't watch him from within my office, now can I? No, I can't and the day is ticking by painfully slow.

"Hey, Rudy! Wait up" A male nurse apparently wants to talk to me. Chad, his name is.

"Hey Chad, what's up?" I smile patiently at him. Sometimes I think I try to hard. No one notices though, so it doesn't matter.

"Where were you? Lois needs her leg adjustment" Well, I wasn't able to get away with being late. Of well. It's not like that makes me a serial killer or anything.

"Sorry, yeah, I got held up with this thing...Is she still here?" I'm in work mode now. Lois lost her leg water skiing. She fell off the skis when she hit a rock. Her leg got caught on the jagged rock, but the momentum made the rest of her keep going. Her leg was still attached, barely, when she got to the hospital. There was no hope to save it. Still, I smile, because amputation or no, you have to smile when you work at a hospital.

"No, she left almost thirty minutes ago." I nod and says thanks, and we both go on our marry ways. I need to call up Lois, get her back here, visit Jeff, see if he is ready to start the process of getting a new hand. Then there is John, I'm going to have to visit him. Busy day today. That's good, I don't want to spend all day just idly thinking.

Lois can't come back today, we rescheduled for tomorrow. Jeff has family visiting, and doesn't want to be reminded that he is missing a hand right now. John is quick, and before I know it, it's three o'clock, and I'm idle. Great. Idle hands are the devil's playing ground. As is, my hands don't have to be idle to start doing some very bad stuff. Dexter. I think about him too much. His little hobby changes things. Let's see, I decided on killing the girls, and giving him a matching doll. The recreation of the shipping container once I get enough blood. What else? A lot of this depends on how much he remembers. I don't he remembers much right now. He was only three. His subconscious remembers it seems, but I don't think he himself remembers. How much will he remember after the recreation? I'll have to find out then.

I also need to find out his hunting style. I wonder, if I give him a kill, would he take it? I think that might be a fun little addition to the game. Yes, a gift. I could leave a trail of bread crumbs. Or body parts. Of, what fun we'll have. Like we did as children, playing in the mud. A different game for a different situation. I'm excited now. I need out of this place. I glance at the clock. Three thirty-six. Great. I want to play now. But of course I need to wait. One hour and twenty-four minutes has never been longer before in my entire life.

But there must be a God, because finally, _finally_, five o'clock comes by bearing merciful freedom. Still, I'm angry and frustrated and excited about what is to come. I need to continue on in the game. To let Dexter know that it's him I'm playing with. That all starts with one thing. A girl. And I get one. After so many years, it's second nature really. Get a girl, bring her home, screw her, drain her, and cut her up. It flows nicely together. A great stress reliever really. I even use a few new tools this time around. I usually don't deviate, but I want to make things special for dearly dehumanized Dexter. And so the only question left is 'Where to place the body?'. As it just so happens I know that Dexter has a date tonight. I set aside the fact that he actually has a girlfriend, he seems really into his fake-life, and take advantage. I place the body close to where he'll be. He won't be able to resist. I keep the head though. Step one in singling Dexter out. Soon the place will fill up with lights, loud music, and people going at it like bunnies. And then Dexter will see my latest work. I hurry home. I'm excited, thrilled, pumped, about as happy as a sociopath gets.

The next day he is setting up another kill-room. His work is much different than mine. I wish he would display it for the world to see, it's truly beautiful. Well, to the right person it is. I want to see him at work again, but, alas, he is just preparing. He leaves soon after, getting lunch with his fake sister in some low-class Cuban food restaurant. I've come to hate her. I mean, I hate almost everyone. Show me a random person on the street, and chances are I hate them. But I hate her more. I never knew I was the jealous type, but God damn it, he is _my _brother. She parades around as his sister, but what does she know? Does she know he witnessed the graphic and bloody death of his mother? That he has a never-ending drive to kill, as sure as his drive to eat and sleep? Does she even know he is adopted?

Anger aside, I listen in to their conversation. "If you bullshit me Dex...Help me out! Like, where is he even getting his hookers?" A cop relying on her scientist brother for solving a case? Clearly Debra not a good detective.

"It's a waste of time. Deb, if he was interrupted...think." He says it like it's an obvious fact. Surely they are talking about me. Why would they think I got interrupted? The leg maybe. I had to cut things sort due to time restraints. They think someone walked in and saw me in the act. Who do they take me for? Well, at least Dexter knew better. All the detectives in Homicide were fooled, but he saw the truth with ease. No wonder Miami has such a poor crime solve rate.

"Jesus Christ, right. Because then how did he have time to wrap all the pieces?" She takes glee in her stolen clue. She seems less of a sister and more of a mental leech. There is no doubt that she will claim that knowledge as her own. Anger briefly rises up again, but then Dexter speaks. I think I Debra said something else. Hope it's not important.

"But now we have a fourth body, and the cuts were different. And that's telling us a story." Dexter is clearly a thinker. Yes, I'm trying some new things. I usually don't make such a point of showing off, but it's important now that I have someone to show off too. "The ritual is changing. He is looking for some kind of inspiration and he's not finding it." I feel somewhat worried for Dexter with that last part. It looks suspicious when he knows so much about the psychology of a sociopath.

"So he keeps doing it until he gets it right." Debra clearly only has a mild understanding, even with Dexter's help, of the workings of a killer.

"I could be wrong" Humble Dexter. Or do you realize your mistake and am now trying to backtrack?

"So how the hell was you date with Rita last night" And Debra moves the conversation out of interesting and into boring. Still, I'm somewhat curious about this girlfriend of his. Not that Dexter will talk about it here. What is he suppose to say, 'Yeah, it's a good cover for killing people when you have a girlfriend'. I don't feel the need to listen any longer. Until, that is, the conversation goes back into my territory. "...He was talking about that dead, headless chick" Damn, what was the first part? Be repetitive Debra, it would really help a serial killer out in his time of need.

"And you got that look in your eye..."

"I was there before you" Debra reminds him. I feel like walking up to them and pointing out that I killed her just for Dexter, who ever got there first be damned. But that would ruin the fun. "And I noticed this body looked differently... The pieces where cold. Like meat-packing cold. Is that what cell crystallization means?" Apparently Debra thinks Dexter is the new Google. But it doesn't matter. Dexter is getting a look on his face. An epiphany, so it seems. "Dex? What are you thinking?"

"Sorry, uh... That makes sense. Cold. It slows the flow of blood." And the pieces are coming together for Dex.

"Why the hell is that important?" And the pieces are not coming together for Deb.

"It's just a feeling" Humble Dexter.

"That's not good enough. Come on, I gotta show LaGuerta and her boys. They are making fun of me." Aw, poor little Debbie is have bully issues. "They are saying the only way I can close a case in on my back. I gotta get our of Vice." An undercover whore? That makes sense. She is probably the one Dexter saw when I put my kill in that swimming pool. "Dex...Please, you gotta-"

"Refrigerated truck..." Dexter mutters, apparently not paying any attention to his fake sister's ramble. A refrigerated truck? I use my home freezer, and a cooler for transportation, but it's not a bad guess. One I will definitively take advantage of, now that they associate a refrigerated truck with me.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Once again having to be hand feed the answers. No wonder she can't get out of Vice.

"He wants a cold environment...To slow the flow of blood. Clean and mobile so he can dump the garbage afterwards" Not bad thinking. I might have even done so if I thought about it first. Who is to say I can't now?

"So I'm looking for a refrigerated truck?" Two hundred million sperm, and she was the fastest? Really?

"Probably a stolen one. Think there are a lot of stolen trucks out there?"

"Are you nuts? In Miami?" And with that last slice of sarcasm, they finish and leave.

A refrigerated truck? Not a bad idea at first glance, but it's too unique. It'd give me the choice of doing my work in broad daylight, always risky, or driving around a unique car at night, which would also be risky. No, home freezes stays as my kill room. But that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with the refrigerated truck idea.

What a perfect way to single him out. I'll drive by him at night, surely he'll follow. I can throw the head at him. A fun little gesture. For people like us, at least.

Finding a truck is easy. Go to any meat packing plant, and they have trucks. Taking one is a bit more complicated. If I was still in my early twenties with no idea what I'm doing, then I might even get caught. It was relatively easy though. The key is not to try and be sneaky, but to act as though there is no reason to be sneaky. The trucks come and go all day. I was just another driver, getting a truck and driving off. The fun of grand theft auto.

Next on my list is to find Dexter. The kill room. I mentally kick myself. He probably hunted tonight, and I missed it. Damn, I really wanted to watch him work too. It's a sociopath thing really. We constantly act and pretend. We have to, we can't ever let our masks drop. But during the kill, we are free. Like artists, we express ourselves within our knife-work. Our true selves. There is no better way to know Dexter, the true Dexter, than to watch him hunt. Still, there will be other chances. He doesn't seem willing to stop anytime soon. And besides, this might help. I know where his kill room is. I know the path he will travel from it. It's just a matter of waiting really. And so I wait. The sun is still up, so this will take a while. I take out a magazine. 'Bush gay Columbian drug lord lover scandal! First lady in tears' Do normal people really believe this stuff? I'm doing humanity a favor by killing them.

It's dark by the time I see Dexter. Good, he'll know it's me. He'll follow me, because he has to know it's me. I know that much about him.

I turn on my high beams as I pull up behind his car. I need to as obnoxious as possible. I need his full attention right now. I pause behind him for a moments, making sure he knows that I'm here, and I want to play. I go to his left as I pass him - slowly, so he can see my refrigerated truck in full. Obvious, I know. But I want that. I don't want him to walk away from this thinking this was an accident, a mere coincidence. No, by the end of this night, he'll know. And it works, he's right on my tail, following attentively through the turns of Miami. Finally, we get to my destination, a dead end. He stops, waiting. I slowly turn my truck around. It's awkward, clearly I need more practice using large trucks. All the more reason my home freezer trumps this truck. Still, I manage to turn it around. My high beams are shinning directly in his face, and he squints. Sorry Dex, and I truly am. A rarity for me. But he is my little brother, and I want him to be happy. I can't wait for the day that the confusion plastered on his face whenever I enter his world disappears; replaced with a sense of understanding and acceptance. But that is tomorrow, and I need to focus on today. I slowly go towards him, again showing him this is no accident. Then right as I'm about to pass him, I throw the head. Bull's-eye, right on his windshield. I don't waste too much time after that, I would rather not get caught, but I do see him step out of his car.

I'm gone, and I'm pumped. I need to do more, I need him to know that this is all about him. All of it. I hide the truck in an abandoned lot. I'm going to need it again. I get my own car, and the rush still hasn't died down. God, I haven't felt like this...ever. It's official now, my dear little brother will join me, and together we shall be great.

And with that thought in mind, I'm now in Wal*Mart at one A.M., getting a Barbie. It's one stop shopping for all your deranged and homicidal needs. I hum a nameless tune, just out of excitement. Soon, little brother, soon. I get a Barbie, some red ribbon, and return to my car. I carefully prepare her. I strip her naked, detach her arms, legs, and head. I tie ribbons around them. I give her a mirror. Almost done. Just one last touch. I open the glove box, pulling out the various nail-polish jars. Another one of my not-so-healthy habits, but far from the worst. Besides, it reminds me of mother. She always use to paint each nail a different color. I remember it very clearly. Will it remind Dexter of our mother as well? We'll see. I paint each of Barbie's finger-nails a different color, just like mother did. I smile down at my work. I hope he does remember. I head off to Dexter's apartment now that the doll is ready. I wait outside his apartment, thinking. How much does he remember? I'll just have to see. I don't waste anymore time, the head will keep him busy for only so long. I break into it with ease. It's a trick of the trade. I'm sure in the big picture he won't mind. It's early, but I know the head will keep him busy for a while.

I carefully place Barbie's dismantled body in the his freezer. The head, however, I attach to the door with some glue. Oh yes, I think he'll appreciate my little gift quite a bit. I'd like to stick around and explore his apartment some more, but time is scarce. Next time.

And there will be a next time.


	2. Crocodile

**A/N**: Chapter two, one of the few chapters where I like the length of it. I didn't mention this before, but I'll update every Saturday. This is a rather dull chapter, the first have of this story tends to be. It isn't even until the fifth episode when Rudy/Brian shows his face. Anyway, one last thing. I don't think very many religious/spiritual people watch Dexter, but I do some God-bashing in this chapter. If you are religious, please suspend your sense of religion along with your morality when reading this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing within this story, not even the plot.

**-Story Begins Here-**

Dexter likes to swim, so it seems. I would go into a chlorinated pool if it was mostly empty. The cool and isolation is always something nice. Never, _never_, would I go in a river though. Filthy places. He could get a parasite from that water. After our reunion, this is something we'll have to talk about.

I think thoughts like that like a lot now. Reunion. There is the game, climaxing into our reunion, followed by 'The After'. What all comes after? It's hard to say. Companionship, certainly, but will we stay or leave? I don't like the idea of staying. Of living another fake life. We could be free. We could travel across the country, maybe even the world if we dared, each day being a new person. No true identity, no home to return to, no friends, no restraints. Yes, that sounds good. Does that sound good to you, Dexter?

He doesn't read my mind and respond, or even notice me. I've very average looking; a good thing for someone who is so not average. He hasn't noticed me at all, or that I always seem to be in the same places as him. Disturbing, Dexter. We'll have to work on that after our reunion.

He's gently floating on the surface of the water. The disgusting, filthy, parasite infected water. That is he was, before some kid rode by on a jet ski and disrupted him. He straightens, and stares at the teens that are playing. What is he thinking? Does he want to kill them? Maim them? Or does he envy them? From my post on the bank, cleaner than the water, I can't see his face. Oh, God no! He is going _under_ the water! I reach into my bag and pull out a Lysol wipe. Just watching him makes me have to clean myself. I rub my hands and face clean. Disgusting. Still, it reminds of days long past. When we were normal children. He would play in the yard, and I would be with him. I would look away, just for a moment, and when I look bad, he would have found the most disgusting item in our yard, and be playing with it. When he was even younger, we would be eating said disgusting item. Dog shit, grubs, rotting bird. He found them. And now, thirty years later, he is swimming in dirty water that most likely contains all three aforementioned icky items.

He resurfaces soon though, and returns to his boat. Good, parasite bath time is over. He climbs into his boat and reaches into a box - cooler, I think - and pulls out an apple. My stomach churns as he bites into it. He didn't clean his hands! Now, not only did he swim in the filthy water, but now he is ingesting it! If only I could use Lysol wipes for my mouth...But he is gone now. Away and back to his fake life, with his fake sister, fake job, and fake girlfriend. But not to worry. You have a real brother looking out for you Dexter.

And I need to make sure he knows that. This whole scheme is just for him. I need to continually remind him of that little fact. I need another girl. But not now, I don't want things to move too fast. Tonight, I will get a girl. Ideas are rushing into my head. The fingernails. Yes, I'll get a girl, paint her nails, and show it to him. Just the nails, so nothing else will distract him.

Brian Moser wants to go and watch Dexter Moser. Morgan now. A fake name for a fake life, his real name is Moser. Does he know that? His real last name is Moser? If not, he will. Big brother Brian will make sure of that. Sadly, Rudy Cooper has a job. I have a fake life too, and I need to keep it. For now at least. And so away I go. He will go to his job, I'll go to mine, and at night we will return to our real lives.

I enjoy my job more today. A woman who needs a new foot comes to me. She says that I'm an angel, surly a gift from God himself. I've never bought into that crap. I remember in the institution I went to religious services. They got in circles and prayed for recovery, week after week after week. Help never came. Still, I went, I prayed, I acted. Anything to get out of there. I wondered if I was the only actor. Everyone wanted freedom, it wouldn't have been a surprise if I wasn't. Was anyone there that didn't act? I remember Lucy, that paranoid schizophrenic that I boned. She believed. She believed that God talked to her, told her to kill Derek. Derek was nice. He didn't talk and stayed out of my way, what else could I have wanted? Well Lucy killed Derek, so then he was even quieter. No complaint from me. Well, I had to act sad. All part of the mask.

But Lucy, she talked to God, and now when some talks to me about God, I think of Lucy. I can't help but wonder if the one-footed woman praising God in front of me talks to God too. I hope not, I don't need another Lucy. She was crazy. Crazier than me even, and that's saying something.

But the woman, Martha, doesn't try to kill me, or anyone. She thanks God for giving her a new foot. Odd, since I'm the one making the foot. Never the less, I set out to make a new foot, God or no God. I keep myself busy that way. Making the foot, checking in on other patients. John needs a new arm, tragic construction accident. He thanks me for the new limb that I had already built him. He thanks me. Martha didn't thank me. Not unless she thought I was God, which I'm not. Maybe she thinks so, and she is just as bat shit crazy as Lucy. Doubtful though, that's just what people do. Thank God for everything. And they think I'm messed up in the head.

Another one of my patients, Mark, is gay. I usually don't care about that kind of stuff, but he won't leave me alone. He thinks I'm cute. I think he's ugly. He wants in my pants. It pisses me off. It's awkward really. Hard to show just the right blend of amusement and frustration to Mark. He is never deterred though. I wonder if doctors can sue patients for sexual harassment. Not that I would. I'm using the name of a dead man and have a personal kill room in my home. I try to stay off the radar.

Chad is back. He is talking about one of my patients. I have too many. All the more reason to kill people, to thin the population. Apparently Lois needs to come in to see me. The leg is uncomfortable and is in need of adjustments. Great.

The day is busy all the way through. A good distraction. If I'm not busy, I tend to get caught up thinking. And thinking about what to do, while unable to do it, drives me crazy. So I'm happy when the day ends.

Because when the day ends, and night comes, and it's back to the game. A girl. Now it's time for a girl. First a car. I need a car to get a girl. I like to use the car without anyone noticing. If no one notices, no one investigates, and all the easy for me to get away with it. It's too early for people to asleep, to late for school. It's five o'clock. Happy hour. To a bar I go.

I choose a bar in the slums. What I'm looking for is someone getting too drunk off their ass to drive tonight. That'll give me a good time period. I wander into the bar. Smoke and loud chatter fills my senses. How fun. I scan the bar for the loneliest, saddest sucker here. A man with sandy blonde hair, around forty years old. He's in a secluded corner, staring vacantly down into his shot of what appears to be vodka. I have an urge to kill him. He's just so pathetic looking. But no, I can't take him. Too public.

Behind him are the restrooms. I pretend that I'm walking to them, but when I pass him, I quickly, yet gently, reach into his coat pocket. Keys. Among them a car key, I'm sure. They're in my pocket now. He doesn't notice, and I continue into the bathroom. There's just something about a bathroom that makes you have to piss. Conditioning I guess. Either way I take a leak and leave. Out into the parking lot. The sun will set soon. The key ring has a car remote on it. I click the unlock button and follow the beep to a Station Wagon. Wow, this guy's life is pathetic. Not my favorite vehicle, but it'll do. I get in, and go off to hooker-land.

A blonde this time. I thought it was a nice change. "Fifty bucks for a complete package. Anal costs an extra ten" She is over-selling herself. No way in hell is she worth fifty, even with free anal. Still, I agree and she gets in. I drive her to my home, the last place she'll ever see. It's a nice and clean place though, the view isn't bad. That's better than what most whores can say.

I skip the sex this time. I'm too excited. With every slashed throat I get a step closer to Dexter. Sex seems just so...minuscule compared to our Reunion.

"So, what's it gonna be, party boy?" Humans have such poor danger senses. She just walked into the lions den, and hasn't even noticed. I walk towards her, quiet, and she still hasn't noticed something is wrong. This is just becoming a classic case of natural selection. The stupid whore is killed before she can make stupid whore babies.

"Oh, I don't know", I tell her as I begin to rub her back. "How about...", I trail off as I get her in a head lock and begin to strangle. "Murder?", I finish my statement. Now she knows something is wrong. She weakly tries to hit me. A five year can do more damage. She tries to screams, too bad my grip is constricting her wind pipe. Within seconds, she is out. To the freezer she goes. I sling her over my shoulder and carry her into my favorite room. I place her on the table, strap her in, and lift the table. She is now upside-down, helpless. I wait patiently for her to awaken. I feel that the stupid whore deserves to be punished.

She stirs, and slowly open her eyes. Fear fills them, I don't blame. She's naked, upside-down, in a freezer. I would be afraid too. But I'm the hunter, not the hunted. There is no reason to fear. I get up, go around her to a table, and pick up the nail-polish. She is still terrified, and flinches when I grab her hand. She stays still though. Good girl. At least she is compliant. I paint each nail a different color. I enjoy doing this. Just like mother. A small cry comes from stupid whore, and I can see she is starting to tear up. I pay no mind. A crying woman usually makes me feel powerful, but this time it's just annoying. I'm working here. I'm making a gift for my dear little brother. No expense will be spared. I finish, and put the nail polish away. I pick up a knife next. I gently trace it across her neck, letting her know what's coming. She whimpers again. This time I enjoy it. I slowly jam the knife into her neck. She bleeds out within moments, but there was that brief second before the knife hit the artery, when she felt pain, fear, and hopelessness. I'm a sick bastard, I know. Textbook sociopath, and damn proud of it. Is Dexter proud? He kills with such a sense of righteousness, but it's still somewhat hypocritical. I'll have to ask him. After the Reunion of course.

The blood stops, and the bucket is full. I add various chemicals to it. Have to preserve it, I have a very special plan for it. If Dexter doesn't remember, I'll make him remember. If he does remember, I'll show him that I know. Not very many people know what happened to our mother. It won't be very hard for him to figure out who I am.

I continue on my work. My typical style, only this time I cut the finger tips off. Carefully I freeze then in a tub of water. When the water freezes, it's perfect. They are placed perfectly in a cube of ice, as tough there is a hand connecting them, and it's just invisible. I hope my brother will appreciate this. I'm sure he will. I keep the rest of the body for now. I take only the finger tips frozen oh-so perfectly in a block of ice.

The ice truck. The perfect place to keep it frozen, and it surly will get attention. I put the finger tips inside, on top of a table. I place two chunks of dry ice on either side. Gotta keep it cold. Then, I park it outside of a restaurant in the middle of the night. I leave it running, gotta keep it cool. It's noisy, sure to get attention. Won't be long now.

I'm picking up a bad habit. And this is coming from a guy who hangs whores upside-down and kills them. I'm returning to the crime scene. I know it's stupid. Just adds extra danger. But I need to know what is going on. Does Dexter approve? Does he understand? I need a better way to stay close to the police force. The same guy can appear near only so many crime scenes before he becomes a suspect. I can't be a suspect. That's the downfall of the home freezer; evidence. There is blood in there, tools, everything. That's why I need to remain hidden. But still, I watch as Dexter comes, surveys the scenario. He is putting the pieces together. He watches them search the truck with exasperation and a sense of knowing. He knows I would never slip up. They'll find nothing, I know it, and he knows it. And yet, the police do not. Is it a sociopath thing? Can he just look at my work and know my personality, that I don't make mistakes? I can look at his work and see him. He is always so careful with his kills. It speaks of uncertainty. He has to take every measure possible to ensure nothing goes wrong. He doesn't indulge, just kills and cuts up. He enjoys it, but I can tell he wants more. He is just too afraid to do more. I can fix that. I'll cut him free of his fake life. Big brother Brian is here to diminish dear Dexter's discomfort.

They leave soon. Off to the lab to analyze everything. The only person who'll find anything is Dexter, because that's the way I made it. The block of ice has fogged up, it shows only a blur of what is inside. Dexter won't get the hint until he returns to the lab.

There is no point in me staying, so I leave and go to my office.

A few days later, and I'm still following Dexter around whenever I get the chance. It's risky, he's bound to notice me sooner or later. I really need to work on a way to get close to him. In person. I could keep on eye on him and the case. Problem is, I know Dexter isn't social. I can't just walk up to him and say, 'Want to be friends?'. I need another way in. I'll work on it later. Because right now, he is on the hunt again. I compare it to the last, and only other, time I saw him hunt. He stalks his prey. Watching them, learning their routine. He's almost over-cautious. So insecure of his abilities. Wouldn't it be so much easier with two hunters, working together? A second hunter watching from a distance, backup incase something goes awry? Still, he sets up a kill room, plastic wrap everywhere. No one would ever know it is a crime scene. He stalked his prey in court, apparently the guy ran down a teen in a hit and run. He stalks him in the bar too. Dexter likes to pretend so it seems as he tells a completely fictional story about his ex-wife. And finally to his house. He is getting ready for the kill. It's moments away. He sits in his car outside the house, syringe in hand. I'm excited just watching him.

A light from inside his car; his cell phone. He leaves, aborting the hunt. I gape. He was about to go in for the kill! He can't just leave. And yet he did. I should follow him, but I can't bring myself to move. I'm tempted to go in and go for the kill myself. I seriously consider this. However, his kill room is still up, everything is ready for the go. He'll be back, I'm sure. And so I'm back to waiting. I just hope he'll be back tonight. I flip open my magazine to that gay columbine drug lord scandal.

As it turns out he comes back in a little over an hour later. Where did he go? He enters the house, and I'm tempted to follow. But no, I know better than that. Following during the day in one thing. Even if he notices, he would have to remain normal. But now, the mask is gone. He is on the hunt, not afraid to kill. Dangerous. It's only a few moments later that he leaves, unconscious body being carried to his car. Away to the kill room he goes. I give him a good head start. He's highly skittish during the hunt I've noticed, and hyperaware too. Wrong time to get noticed.

Five minutes later, I leave. I park a little ways off of the kill room. I can't let him hear my car, a car actually, that would be bad. I try to find a good place to get a look into the kill room. I can barely see though the plastic walls. I can see the plastic wrap tying the naked victim down. No rope marks. Just how careful is he? The tools off to the side. A wide array too. So he does indulge. A light comes towards the table. It's Dexter, carrying his laptop. A video is playing. I can't tell of what, but I'm sure it has a meaning.

He places it down on the table, picks up a knife, and cuts the victims check. He collets some of his blood for a slide. A trophy, it's confirmed. Dexter says something I can't hear. He starts a conversation with his victim. So I'm not the only one that enjoys causing fear and pain. He lifts up a power tool and turns it on, provoking fear. How sadistic. More muttering, and the power tool comes to life again. His victim is clearly in a state of complete terror now, but the power tool dies down yet again. Dexter doesn't waste anymore time though. He grabs a knife and plunges it into the naked body before him.

He is more of a butcher than myself. Cutting the pieces from limb from limb, letting the blood fly as it wills. How messy. Dirty Dexter. It's amazing really, how clean and efficient he is in the big picture though. All the mess is contained, and instead of keeping his space clean for the next kill, he throws it out. A disposable kill room. Brilliant. I might pick up a few tricks from him. After the Reunion of course. We can swap tips all we want then.

He is off to dump the body, in his boat, so it seems. I'll have to take note of the location. His ship does a GPS I believe. I wonder if it records past locations.

That isn't my concern right now. I feel like it's time to get to know Dexter a little bit better. Time to do some breaking and entering. The friendly kind, though.

I get into his home easily. It's a nice place. I didn't take time to notice that last time. I walk to the freezer and open it. Sure enough, my Barbie remains inside. I'm sure Dexter noticed, it, the head is next to the body, not my work, but he works for forensics. It's been drilled into his mind never to disturb a crime scene. I take the head out and glue it to the door again. The body, I take with me. Now, it's time for a little bit of snooping. I walk around his home, exploring. I remember I saw him open his AC once. I wonder...I take off the cover, and there is a little wooden box. Carefully, I pick it up. I open it and grin. Trophies. A long row of blood slides. How long has he been at this? Is this his first box? Oh dear little Dexter, how devious. I replace the box, exactly as it was before. He kills so often, maybe once every week or two. Lets say every two weeks, and he's been at it for ten years. With twenty eight kills a year, for ten years. Two hundred and eighty kills, minimum. Damn. He has me beat. Clearly, he is experienced.

But enough of that. I wander around some more. I look in his fridge. Rather ordinary, although he doesn't seem too into the unhealthy stuff. A good serial killer had to stay in shape though. I move into his bed room. Everything is nice and neat, put in place. It reminds me of one of those display houses. Everything is right. It's cozy and lived in, but blank. No personality. No posters or music or anything to speak to who Dexter is. That seems to be the way he likes it. He likes to be there, in the corner, forgotten and ignored. Nothing noteworthy about him. He does fade into the background well, but that isn't a good thing. He can act, sure. But not well. Like my days in the institution, before I learned how to fake complex emotions. That is how he is. He gets happy about little things, but nothing real. No wonder he is so careful, in a large city like Miami he can go undetected, but if he is part of a smaller group, he would be the sociopath suspect. We can change that. Still, I wonder how he can keep a girlfriend. It must be hard for him. The only hard part about dating for me is not killing the girl in her sleep.

I leave his bedroom. Surely he has to have something to speak to who he is. Something that I can use, that only he will get. You see, today I came up with a good plan. I expanded on that gift idea. I'll capture someone, anyone really, and hold them hostage. I'll leave body parts laying out in the open, but in places that only Dexter would get. A trail of bread crumbs, just for him. Problem is, I need to know where. A photo album would be great. He has to have one of those. And then I could get a better look into his childhood. I go back to his bedroom. I look under the bed. Nothing. In the closet. Just a set of killing tools. Still not a photo album. I go back into the living room and look on the selves. Bingo.

Picture albums. What was his childhood like, I wonder. Pictures of course. Of him, of his fake sister, his fake father, and his fake mother. Places and memories. It's interesting. I watch him grow up, starting with the boy I last saw in a puddle of blood, to the man he is now. I frown. It should be me and mom with him in these pictures. This should be the Moser family album. I continue to flip pages, all the while his smiles get better, more realistic. If someone were to flip through, they might notice that. That he use to have such fake smiles, slowly becoming perfectly. It'd be suspicious. No matter, I don't intend to leave him here, in his fake life.

And there is that man. I remember his face from the day he took Dexter from me. Harry. He is standing next to Dexter smiling. A day at the beach with his fake family. Dexter drinking from a water fountain at a soccer field, Harry's shadow on the wall next to him. A ride in a hay wagon around a pumpkin patch. I know these places. I can use these places. Finally, I come to a picture of just Dexter and Harry in front of a hospital. Angel of Mercy Hospital. I remembering reading about that place. It was shut down. It's still standing, empty. A perfect place to keep a hostage. I turn over the picture and grab a black marker. Carefully, in the upper-left corner, I draw a smiley face. Come meet me Dexter. I'll have a present waiting for you.


	3. Popping Cherry

**A/N**: Once again, thanks Mike91848.

**-Story Starts Here-**

Martha hugs me tightly. I don't like to be touched. I wish she would just stick to thanking God for my good deeds. I wonder if she would blame Satan for my bad ones? Good, evil, it's all relative. But still, Martha insists God sent me to help her. It's not like I'm the only prosthetist in Miami. "God bless you, you truly are a sign of God's everlasting love and mercy." Oh, the irony. She holds me tightly, beginning to cry. I swear to her oh-so loving and merciful God, if she gets snot all over my shirt, I'm going to kill her in the middle of the night.

"Please, it's just my way of giving back" I hug her back. God, what is it with people and hugging? I pull her back, before any real damage can be done to my shirt. "Now come on, how about you give your new foot a test drive" All part of my job. She seems to enjoy her new foot, and soon I'll be rid of her. No, I'm going to kill her, but her foot is almost done. I hate her extra though. More than normal, still less than Dexter's fake sister.

"Yes, of course. You are such a nice young man. Would you like to come to my son's confirmation this Sunday?" How sweet. I want to vomit just thinking about it.

"Sorry, I would love to, but I have plans all weekend." Which is true. Just not legal plans. I intend to put my little gift for Dexter in motion.

"Sure? There'll be cake" Cake, the grand motivator. Right behind death that is. And we wonder why our obesity rates are so high. No, Martha, I would not like some cake.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious, but this is pretty important" I smile. Smile, smile. Gotta smile. Smile at their pain and suffering. Well, right now I'm smiling to get Martha the fuck out of my office. Seriously, she needs to leave. Now.

"Alright, I'll be sure to bring you a slice next time I see you then. God bless" and then she leaves, thank God. I hope I never see her again. I know I will though. One of the worst parts of my job, my patients never really leave. They always need some sort of adjustment. I can go years without seeing them, but they always mess up their new limb in some way. And it's always up to me to fix it. Always. I'll be glad when Dexter and Iskip town. Then I'll only cut off limbs.

Soon the day ends, and night comes. It's time to play. Finally. Where to place the body this time? Somewhere where they'll notice it. Somewhere cold. A hockey Stadium I decide as I leave the hospital. The Miami Blades. They are bound to have a night-watch on site. But in the off-season, probably just one. Two tops. But they would be on opposite ends, so it won't be a problem.

I go to another bar. Another sap, and another car. A quick stop to my home to pick up the body that was once Stupid Whore, a mask, and a gun. I quickly turn on my computer, just to see if there is anything that would interfere with my plans. The Angel of Mercy hospital is still closed and shut down. I'm about to leave when a head-line catches my eye. 'Ice Truck Killer's latest display' I'm going to guess that I'm the Ice Truck Killer. It's a misnomer, but then again I'm the one who confirmed it. No time to think about it now. It's time to get this party started.

I cough. I think I have come down with a cold. Irony again, I know. I grab a cough drop out of my pocket as I stare at my next crime scene; the hockey stadium. Breaking in is easy. It always is. It should be after all these years. Stupid Whore is with me. Well, all but her finger tips. She is quiet, cold, and best of all, in pieces for easy transport.

I slip my mask on. I can't give anyone a good look at my face. That'll do no good. I'm walking though the hallway, careful of the cameras. I have to be very careful of the cameras. I plan on framing the guard on duty tonight for my latest kills, and showing that I entered won't be good for that. I'm careful. I listen for footsteps. I know there has to be a night-watch here somewhere. Finally, I hear the clicking of shoes. A figure steps out of a door a few yards in front of me. I quick walk towards him, gun in hand. My throat tickles, and I have to fight back a cough. He hears me anyway. "What-" panic is in his voice, and it pisses me off. I press the gun to his head.

"Don't talk, move" And he does. I follow behind him, gun pointed at him the whole time. We enter the stadium. I take my bag containing Stupid Whore and throw it in front of him. "Place it in the hockey goal." He bends down and opens the bag.

"Oh my God" He whispers. Normal people, so squeamish. I remind him of his job by pressing the gun deeper into his hair. He complies. Like a good little boy, he places them where directed. The torso isn't straight. The torso needs to be straight. My inner neat freak screams at me to fix the damn torso!

"Fix the Torso" I say, then cleared my throat. I need some nice hot tea. He glances at me briefly, then does so. "Come" I cough again, but he still follows my command. I blindfold him, and take him to my car. Not before taking the incriminating video of him placing the parts. "Where do you live?" I ask as we enter my car. He rattles offan address, and we go. I plant the tape in his home, and with that, I commence the next phase of my plan. The hospital.

I remember reading about it. Some old hospital being shut down. I didn't care. This was back in the intuitional days though, so I pretended like I did care. Like it was tragic, bad, all those poor people out of work. I care now.

I take him to the basement, tie him up. He is begging for his life now. I have no intention of killing him. That would be rude. No, I won't be the one to end him. That's the point of the gift. So I leave him. I do have a day job.

However, I'm also calling in sick to my day job. I am sick, my disappearing cough drop supplies will attest to that. They still don't cover my cough either. Soothes the pain though.

No, it's not my day job I'll be going to. And, so it seems, neither will Dexter. He's at a swap meet. Why? Filthy place. He walks towards a boy, young man really, swinging a knife around. I tense. He's getting too close. He could get stabbed. What are you doing Dexter? The knife flying towards his face. Fuck. I jump, ready to...do something for my brother that might get stabbed in the face. But he doesn't. He catches the hand holding the knife. The boy looks stunned. The knife vendor they are standing in front of looks angry. Few words are exchanged, and they all leave.

He's on the hunt again. He kills so often. I kill less often than he does, and I'm trying to show off.

And yet he buys a cactus. He does weird stiff while on the hunt. Maybe he intends to kill someone what it? Creative. But he returns to the office. I leave again. No point in mulling aroundthe police station. I'd prefer to avoid looking suspicious.

I spend the rest of the day gathering supplies for my gift to Dexter. I need surgical tools, medicine, various machines for monitoring his vitals... Nothing that I can't steel from my place of work. This game is fun. But I don't have too much spare time.

It isn't long after when he is on the hunt again. This is how he does it. Several stalking session, followed by the kill. His victim this time, that boy with the knife. Wouldn't want to be him. Dexter is a very lethal hunter. They measure a predator's success rate while hunting by the times they kill divided by how many attempts to kill they make. So far, it seems Dexter has a hundred percent kill rate. Beat that African Wild Dogs.

Knife Boy takes some other kid out into the swamp. Dexter hunts killers, but is Knife Boy on the kill now? Seems that way. They hop a fence into the swamps. Dexter follows. I follow. The joy of stalking a killer stalking another killer on the kill. I keep a safe distance. I don't want to get caught, but Knife Boy has proven to be dangerous. Dexter might need backup if things go wrong. This is how it'll work after our Reunion. Two of us working together. Hunts are always more successful with multiple hunters.

I dig through the brush, quietly as possible. There are bugs that buzz and bite and just overall piss me off. But Dexter has come to a stop, and so do I. Voices drift through.

"I don't know Lucas. Is there?" A calm voice spoke. I'm going to guess Knife Boy. The silence that follows is deathly, someone is going to die, and everyone knows it. You can smell it in the air. Nature. Life and death. It seems so fitting here in the swamps. A cheery voice brakes the majesty of it all though.

"Anyone see a Frisbee? It flew in here somewhere", says Dexter. I wonder, will they fight or flee? Flee, it seems. Good, I would hate to show myself to Dexter so soon. Both boys run out, leaving Dexter alone. Well, not alone. I'm here. He just doesn't know that. He begins walking back, in a trance. I begin to exit too, through a different path. Why would Dexter do that? Is he attached to Knife Boy's would-be victim? I don't think so. He wouldn't have allowed Knife Boy to get this far if he was. Maybe he didn't want to be a witness to the crime. He would have to choose between being an accomplice by not calling it in, or call it in and be questioned about what he was doing. That must be it. I'm still disappointed at the lack of blood, but I don't need anyone to know I was there either. And in this mess, my foot prints, hair, sweat, and God knows what else is here. It's good for everyone involved. And that kid was going to get caught anyway. He is young, early twenty late teens, and clearly has no idea how to hunt. Not like Dexter or myself.

A loud hiss echoes out, followed by Dexter yelling obscenities breaking my train of thought. I hurry to look. A gator is hissing with it's mouth wide open and so very close to Dexter. And Dexter himself, he's just getting up from where he fell in the mud about five feet away. I bite my tongue trying not to laugh, and at the same time I dig my feet into the ground to avoid going over and helping him up. I remember being a child, how it would rain and we would throw balls of mud at each other. Like a snow ball fight, but with mud since it doesn't snow in Miami, just rain. We would play for hours, and finally go into the house. Mom would make us take off our clothes and shoes though, since they were coated in mud. She would make us both peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He would always want to trade, even though we had the same sandwich. 'I want Biney's!' he would say, and reach out a dimpled hand to me. I'd smile and trade.

Happy days. I wish we could do that again. That I could walk out of the brush and laugh and he'll laugh and we'd go home and make sandwiches. But not today. Today he gets up from the mud himself and backs up, hitting a tree. Anger hits him, shown as he turns to strangle the tree that dared to stand in his way. He grips the tree, but soon realizes that trees don't have necks. He lets go and stumbles around the foliage for a few more moments before leaving. That was...nostalgic. He leaves and so do I.

I go home and remember. I didn't like to remember before, when I didn't know where Dexter was. It reminded me that I abandoned him. I didn't really leave, we were just taken to different places against both our wills, but I still can't shake it that sense of betrayal. But today, I remember.

I remember how mother was big, and she told me that it's a boy inside her. I remember asking her what his name is, and she told me that we get to decide. I liked the name Dexter. I remember jumping up and down and begging her to name him Dexter. She told me she'd think about in a way that meant no. But I remember everyday begging her. Dexter. I remember the day she brought him home and told me his name was Dexter.

I remember how she thought I would get jealous. How she told me that the baby would get extra attention for a little while, because babies need extra attention. I remember how I got mad at first, but then I looked into those brown eyes and knew mom was right, that he needed extra attention. How he deserved extra attention. I never got mad about it again. I gave Dexter all the extra attention he could handle.

I remember how when he first started walking, he would follow me everywhere. His word wasn't 'Mommy', or 'Daddy', although with father's absence this wasn't a surprise, but 'Biney'. My name. And so he would follow me around everywhere, and whenever I would look at him he would point and say 'Biney' and then just laugh. I would laugh too.

I remember how when he was two years old I went to school for the first time. How he cried and cried all day when I left. That is what I remember about my first day of school. Hoping that Dexter wouldn't cry so much that he would throw up, which he did sometimes. When the teacher asked me to introduce myself, I told her I was Brian Moser, and I had a little brother called Dexter Moser who was probably crying because I wasn't home right now. I remember the way Dexter hugged me tighter than I thought a two year old could when I came home. How he happily said 'Biney' and looked up at me with glassy red eyes that told me he did spend all day crying. I remember promising him how I'd never leave him for good, that I'd always come back to him.

And here we are. I made a promise, and I won't break it. Dexter. My brother. He may or may not remember me, but I remember him.

Another day passes, and finally Dexter goes in for the kill. It's an empty arcade, no windows. Damn, I can't view the capture. I wait across the street for him to transport Knife Boy to the kill room. Hopefully I can view the kill. I do love to watch him work. I want to join him really. That's an odd thought. When we kill, it's something that we work hard at to hide. To not show that private moment to someone else. But now that someone else is someone I don't have to hide from.

Dexter walks out of the arcade, alone. He aborted the kill again? What is it this time? Really, we need to work on this too after our Reunion. Soon that day will come.


	4. Let's Give The Boy a Hand

**A/N**: Thanks again to Mike91848 for proof reading.

**-Story Starts Here-**

Dexter is a mystery. Perhaps even as mysterious as I am to him. I think about that as I cut Rent-A-Cop's hand off. He screams, and I ignore him. Like screams have ever stopped me. If I'm ever about to be killed, I'm not going to scream. Not that I intend to get killed. The hand is off, and I don't have much time. Rent-A-Cop is bleeding very fast. I have to run about to keep him from dying. This is a lot harder without nurses. They truly are under-valued. But I can't think about that right now. Rent-A-Cop is bleeding. It was a controlled amputation, so my preparation did help a lot. Soon, Rent-A-Cop is sleeping quietly, and his wrist has stopped bleeding so much. I switch my bloody rubber gloves for a new pair. Before it was for sanitation, now it's for keeping my prints off and me out of jail. I make sure he has antibiotics before I leave. I don't know how long it will take Dexter to find this place, but I can't have Rent-A-Cop die from infection.

I put his hand in a cooler. It felt odd, dealing with such fresh flesh. The hand is bleeding, messy. I don't like it. There's a reason why I kill the way I do. I walk out into the empty parking lot to the car I stole tonight. The sun will come up soon, I need to hurry. Luckily I have everything I need in the back of the car. A beach lounge chair, a pale and shovel, an umbrella, a camera, and a beach ball, already inflated. I'm all set for a fun day at the beach. Or, at least I'll make sure Mr. Hand is.

I'm careful to avoid suspicion. Why is it that when someone doesn't want attention from the police, they drive erratically? No, I do the speed limit, don't run any yellows, no illegal U turns. I'd look bad if a cop got a look in my cooler. By the time I get to the beach, the sun is just peaking up over the ocean. I can't carry all my stuff at once, So I only take the umbrella and chair. I'm careful to avoid cameras. It's a new age, and we are always being watched. But, sometimes, I really don't want to be watched. Now is a good example.

I carry the chair and umbrella to where two palm trees cross. I look at the spot. It's the spot from Dexter's photo album. It has hardly changed. I set up the chair and umbrella, then return for the other items. I place the towel over the chair, and the ball off to the side. The shovel in the pale, and the pale on the chair. Now for the final touch. I look around and make sure no one is watching. I reach down and take the hand out of the cooler, and place it on the chair, propped up against the back. Blood comes out due to the up-right position. It looks very nice really. I pick up the camera and snap a picture. It's one of those old-time cameras. The kind that gives you an immediate picture. I place the picture in the pale, and leave. The less time I spend there, the less likely I will be seen there. Although people have a hard time describing me. I tend to be so average looking, it's beyond their descriptive skills.

I drive the car back to the bar parking lot and switch it for my own. The sun is up now, and the heat is starting to kick in. I have no work today, and I intend to make the most of it. I want to find out a little bit more about Harry Morgan. I wonder what all Google will tell me?

As it turns out, quite a bit. Harry was apparently a hero. A cop for Miami Metro, loved and highly respected. What I want to know is, why did Harry adopt Dexter? Surely he must have seen plenty of accidents in his days. It's unlikely that ours was the first with children. So Harry was a good guy, but I want to know when he was a bad guy. I go to the city hall, they have a bunch of records in the basement. Several very interesting records. Harry had an anger problem. He became increasingly more enraged at criminals wiggling out of the judicial system. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that he taught Dexter to kill those who escape. Just a hunch...

Another interesting thing, my mother was a confidential informant for him. There are some very interesting tapes. How Harry wanted Laura, my mother, to steal some cocaine to put a dealer behind bars. How my mother said she couldn't, and Harry said she had to. She did. Or she tried, but a chain-saw got in her way. I'm guessing Harry feels responsible for her death.

The final piece that I found was hard to get. It was his explanation for taking Dexter, but not me. Short and brutal; Dexter was young enough to recover. I wasn't. Well, he was half right. I'm guessing that he grew attached to Dexter, and by the time that Harry found about Dexter's need, he wasn't willing to give him up. And that frustrates me. Emotion. Some stupid emotional bond with no logic behind it what-so-ever is what separated me from Dexter. Harry didn't want to give up Dexter, that was all. I'm pissed.

I'm tired of looking through all these files. Reading about the stupidity of a man that died ten years ago. I drive home. If I wasn't such as expert at bottling rage, I'd probably get in a crash. But I get home, and I push most of my rage away. So, Harry took in Dexter in hopes that he can be normal. When it turned out he wasn't normal, Harry trained him to be a judge, jury, and executioner all in one. My stomach turns at that thought. So, good and noble hero Harry Morgan took in a lion, taught it as a dog, and proclaimed it as his son. Sad fact is, it's still a lion. Dexter doesn't care if he kills good or bad people. He just wants to kill. He's abiding by the rules of a man long dead. He needs my help to break free of this lie.

I remember when they tried to sell me that lie. They told me what to do and not to do. This is right, that is wrong. I never bought it. But the salesman for morality did a better job on Dexter it seems. That's why his fake life is so important to him. I wonder just how much of his life is dictated by Harry. Probably all of it. But I'll free him of that lie.

It's getting late. I cook a quick dinner and eat. I'll need to keep my strength up for tonight. Tonight will be the soccer field. I'm going to need some shoes and a soccer ball, but that should be it. Easy enough to pick up on my way back to the hospital. I'll need more cough drops too. I'm going through them like crazy. But God damn it, my throat hurts. A lot.

Walmart again. My God, is there anything this place doesn't have? I get a nice pair of black Puma soccer shoes, and a soccer ball. Cough drops. Because it feels like someone spent the last day rubbing my throat with sandpaper. It's late enough to take a vehicle from in front of a home. Which I do. A nice shiny red truck. Now it's back to Angel of Mercy Hospital. I hope Rent-A-Cop is doing okay, I haven't checked on him since this morning. It would put a damper on the game if he died so soon. I walk down into the basement. The stairs clank, but once I'm on the ground I'm silent.

"Please...Please don't hurt me." He sounds uncomfortable. I don't say anything in response. He is lying still, blindfold still in place. I don't want him to get too use to my voice. If something goes wrong, he could make it out of here alive. And who will be responsible for getting him a new hand? Me, that's who. That's why he can't get use to my voice. I clear my throat though. I have to, it just hurts and tickles and is horrible. He is still begging for mercy. This hospital's name is a misnomer, because he isn't getting any mercy.

I check his pulse and fluids. I keep him clean and healthy. I give him a few shots, to prepare for the next amputation. "What is that? What are you putting in me?" He is clearly panicked by the shots, but remains still after the initial jump. I don't respond. I'll speak only when necessary. Now isn't one of those times. I kneel down next to his right foot. I remove his shoe and he whimpers in fear. There's nothing to worry about, I have to go grab my tools before I can remove his foot. Instead I put on one of the soccer shoes I got. It looks good. Now I continue with the amputation. He screams again, and I ignore him. Really, he should be thankful I'm a doctor and can make such surgical cuts. I don't give him morphine though. I want him to want death by the time Dexter gets here. I want him to beg Dexter for death. Right now, that means putting him in a lot of pain as his right foot is removed. I put the foot in the cooler and run about to stop the bleeding, close the arteries, give him antibiotics, and a sedative so he'll sleep.

It's still dark when I get to once-was a soccer field, now it appear to be a high class hotel. Doesn't matter, I need sleep. I should have spent yesterday sleeping, but I wasn't tired in the morning, and I was too mad in the evening. Now I'm exhausted. My cold is getting better, I don't need a relapse. I make things quick. I place the foot on a stone bench, and the soccer ball next to it. I take a picture, place it under the ball, and leave. It's time for bed. Which is exactly what I'll do. As soon as I get home. Which means I first have to switch out cars again. Sometimes this whole car-switch thing is such a pain in the ass. But I'm sure it's saved my ass several times. I remember reading about several people linked to my crimes with their cars. I wonder if any of them ever got convicted?

Finally, home again. Bed. Too far. The couch will do. God, I'm working too hard. But it's for Dexter, so it's okay.

Have you ever woken up pissed off? I do that a lot. Especially so when I wake up to another voice. Like today. I groggily open my eyes. I didn't get enough sleep last night. Day? Hell, I don't know. I look at the sound, the TV. Easier to shut up than a real person. I reach for the remote so I can go back to sleep. "It is believed to be the work of the Ice Truck Killer." I stop. That's me. What does the media have to say about me? "Counting the hand that appeared yesterday on Petri Beach, this makes two body parts. With us now is Hank Phillips, a criminal psychologist, to discuss what this might mean.", says the perky blonde anchor woman. The camera zooms out to show a man with brown hair and an over the top haircut. "Hank, you specialize in this kind of stuff. What could he be trying to tell us?"

"Well, first of all, thank you for having me. Now, he is leaving gruesome body parts in common places used for fun and relaxation. I believe he is trying to corrupt how we spend our spare time. To mock our way of life." Hank is coming off strong. I almost feel sorry for them. They are missing one hell of a piece of the puzzle. A piece only Dexter has.

"Before he only killed prostitutes, but now he's changed, why?"

"Well, I'm not even completely convinced this is the same person. You're right, it is a radical change, and people like him don't like to change. This is probably someone new, perhaps inspired by the Ice Truck Killer, but not him." Wrong. I don't mind changing things up if it's for a friend. A brother.

"Tell me, do you have any idea where and what he might leave as his next body part?"

"Well, he is running out of limbs. He's already done a foot and a hand, he'd have to move up the arm or leg next. Or, and I'm hoping I'm wrong, he'll leave us a head next." Wrong again, mister failed psychologist. I plan on moving up the leg. I'm a good doctor, but keeping someone alive post-decapitation is a bit out of my league. And he needs to stay alive. "As for where, if I knew, I'd be telling the police right now. But if he follows previous patterns, it'll be a family-friendly location. Maybe the zoo or a movie theater." Double-fail. Honestly, who employed this guy? He needs to get fired.

"Thank you for coming, we'll be right back after these messages." I decide now will be a good time to get up and dressed. I go into my bathroom and do my morning ritual. They don't all involve killing. I brush my teeth, shower, brush my hair, dress, and get a big bowl of cereal along with a cup of coffee, and return to the TV. I guess this will be how I spend the rest of my day. Since it's already almost noon. Considering that my first time sleeping in the last two days lasted only six hours, I woke up too soon.

But the news is on, well a news commentary it seems, and they are doing a recap. Good, I didn't get around to watching it yesterday, so I have no idea how they took the hand. "So, in case you've been under a rock for the past few days, it appears we have a new twist in the Ice Truck Killer case. First, a night watchman for a hockey stadium, Tony Tucci", a picture of him pops into frame, "was accused of being the Ice Truck Killer, a state-wide man hunt for this guy was called." So my frame job worked. Temporarily at least. "Then we found a hand on the beach - show a picture." A picture of my nifty work pops up. It does look good. "and guess what? The hand belongs to Tony Tucci! It is believed that the Ice Truck Killer is responsible for this bizarre case as well." Clearly the police force took a reputation hit. That's what they get for falling for such a crappy lie. Of course it was just a frame job. How stupid are the police? To think that Tony Tucci, the rent-a-cop, is me! That he makes such perfect cuts and leaves the bodies out in the open, but still without a trace of evidence? That alone is crazy. What's more is that they think he placed the body at his place of work, during his shift, took the video, hid it in his home, and then jumped town? Honestly, it's an insult to my intelligence.

"That's not all." I snap my attention back to the TV. He must be getting to the foot now. "This morning, a foot with a soccer ball was found in a similar fashion. This time it was placed in front of a hotel, which seems out of place, given the soccer shoe and ball. The lot however, was once a soccer field. It is still unclear why he didn't choose a lot that is presently a soccer field, but some suspect it has something to do with change." It's almost funny how hard they try to complete an impossible puzzle. If I wanted the public to get what I was saying, they would. Instead, I'm only talking to one person here. "We also have some more, very disturbing news about this case." Oh, what else do they have? "It appears that both the foot and hand are from the same body!" I thought they already knew that. "The same, living body. The police have reason to suspect that Tony Tucci is being kept alive for the amputations." They got me. Yeah, Tony's alive. I thought they would like that though. It means that they might, but won't, be able to save him. Normal people just don't think sometimes.

I put my empty bowl and cup in the kitchen and grab some more cough drops. This cold is really starting to bug me. The guesses about my work keep on coming. Some say the hand means that there is too much sex associated with the beach, that we can't keep our hands off of each other. Others think it means that our youth text too much, that they use their hands to communicate in their relaxation time. The foot they think means how our world changes, but we don't. That we travel too much and have become far to comfortable to call a hotel room our home. Kill a man and you're a monster. Kill a man, and put a body part in the open in a ritualistic fashion, and you're Picasso.

I wonder, did Dexter figure it out? I'd like to think so, but I doubt he looks through the pictures often. Still, he has to be getting it. I'm sure he has some sense of familiarity when he got to the beach, maybe not the hotel though. I'll have to go to the pumpkin patch next. Luckily, that place has remained a pumpkin patch. Who knew they were so popular? It's getting late. It's time to pay Rent-A-Cop, Tony, a visit.

I switch cars at a bar and go straight to the hospital. There is nothing I need at Walmart this time around. The stairs are loud as I walk down them, alerting him to my presence. As soon as I hit the ground though, I'm quiet as a mouse. "Please...Kill me already. Kill me." Begging for death, how perfect. I walk past him and to a table with a box of cough drops on it. I pick it up and cough. I go to grab a cough drop out of the box. Empty. Great, my throat is killing me. "Please..." Tony is pleading. Pleading does as much help as screaming. I don't just change my plan just because someone asks nicely. Honestly, what does he take me for? I'm a sociopath, but I'm not erratic. I sanitize and suit up in surgical gear.

Tony is crying. I sigh, which makes him cry more. That's pathetic. He deserves to die. But he won't, not by my hands. I give him more shots. His cries are frantic now, he knows what is coming. He knows he is about to lose another piece of himself. Literally. I clear my throat as the pain is coming back. Great. I should have stopped by Walmart to pick up more cough drops. The shots have kicked in. I can tell because Tony can barely move. He's awake, just paralyzed. It's hard to perform an amputation with the patient jumping around. I take my tools and begin the slow and careful process of removing his right leg, cutting it along his knee. Carefully, surgically, and the leg is off and in the cooler. Tony isn't moving, but there are tear streaks running down his cheek. I'm sure this must be painful. Pity I don't care.

Once again, I'm buzzing around trying to keep Tony alive. It's hard. Killing people is a lot easier. A nurse would be amazing right now. I believe Dexter has some medical knowledge. Comes with his job. If I ever have to do something like this in the future, maybe he could help. I'm sure he could learn, he's smart. But not today, and that's okay, because Tony has stopped bleeding out. He is crying again, the paralysis is beginning to wear off. I give him a sedative and he's out. Off I go to the pumpkin patch. I only pause to search my pockets for another cough drop. Just wrappers. Frustrated I throw one wrapper across the room before walking out. I'm in pain, my throat hurts damn it!

It's not my greatest work. It seems so plain. Just a leg in a hay wagon. Still, I take the picture and leave it. It'll be sure to scare the hell out of some little children going for a ride. It was Halloween yesterday, and I'd imagine that this place will still be busy today. I've never known why though. Why are pumpkins scary? Normal people make the weirdest, tenuous connections sometimes.

And, it's Monday. Monday means work. Work means I have to get home to shower now.

And with another day of work, comes another day of Martha. Martha is pissing me off, as always. She is talking about how nice her son's Confirmation was. How he is such a good Catholic. How God has a special place in heaven for him. That's nice. With all my grand deeds, I'm sure Satan is saving a nice place in hell just for me. She changes topics to something a little bit more interesting. "So did you hear about the Ice Truck Killer? How he is now leaving body parts around? And he poses them in some sick displays."

"Yeah. They have a hand and a foot so far, right? And it's from the same person?" I'm a busy doctor, I don't have time to follow some serial killer case. So I may not have all the facts.

"What's more is that they say he is keeping that poor man alive. Can you imagine that? Everyday losing another body part!" She is clearly disturbed about Tony being alive. Illogical really, he could be saved for all she knows. "I don't buy it though. The police always say stuff like that. It's like, they get a hair and tell who killed who and with what and why. There's no way that Tucci is alive, I don't care what some little scientist says." Clearly she is not scientifically literate.

"You'd be surprised, there are people who spend years studying about that stuff. They know what they're doing" Honestly, how can someone be that stupid? We have science and technology. We know how the body works, and how decomposition and blood flow works. If you are trained properly, you can tell how long a body part has lacked blood.

"I still don't believe it. I think they just want to keep out hopes high so everyone will keep looking" Yes, Martha, it's a conspiracy. I really need to hurry up and finish her foot so she will leave again.

The day is long, it seems everyone is missing some body part or another. But finally it quiets down a little past four. It's almost time to leave, thank God. So here I am, sitting in my office, thinking about where next to place another part of Tony. I hadalready decided on taking the arm. I saw a nice park in one of Dexter's pictures. That'll be my next place.

I'm spinning around in my chair. I hope Dexter gets there soon. I don't know how much longer Tony can live through this. It's four fifty-five.

Four fifty-six.

Four fifty-seven.

Four fifty-eight.

Four fifty-nine. Close enough to five. I pack up and leave the hospital. To go to another hospital. But first Walmart. A picnic blanket and basket. That's enough. It's back to the bar to switch cars again. I'll have to hurry through this so I can be home in time for a nap. The sleep deprivation is starting to get to me, and there is only so much coffee you can drink in one day. I enter the building and begin to walk toward the stairs to Tony. The door opens again and I freeze. Has Dexter come at long last? A flashlight shines, it has to be him. I don't go down the stairs. Instead I go around, so I'll have an aerial view of Dexter and Tony. I have my camera in hand. I want Dexter to know this isn't a trap, that I won't get him caught. I wait for Dexter to reach Tony, my finger ready to take the picture.

The stairs clatter as he walks down. He sees Tony, and walks towards him. He is just standing at the foot of the table. "Please...Just do it...Kill me. I'm ready." Tony is begging for death. Dexter looks off to the side to a set of sharp tools, waiting. "I'm ready." Tony repeats again. Yes, he is ready. "Just don't cut me anymore." Dexter stands there. He stares. Doesn't talk, doesn't move towards the tools or exit, just stares. "Please don't cut me anymore." Tony is crying again. Good manners and the tears of a pathetic man don't affect me. I imagine the same goes for Dexter. "Just kill me, it's okay." Dexter just stares. I'm getting worried. Does he disapprove? Can he really only kill bad people? Even when a person is sitting there, begging for death?

Or is it just his ritual altogether? He has a pattern, his own ritual. I can't throw him a kill like this, it's outside his comfort zone. He has no idea what is happening, or why. I should have known. Next time, though, next time I'll make it right. I pick up my camera, and snap a picture. Very incriminating evidence. Dexter, hovering over a crying Tony in a dark basement, surrounded by sharp objects. Send it in anonymously to the police, and Dexter gets twenty-five years to life. But I need him to see that I won't. I don't want him to get caught. He needs to understand that. So I leave the camera and the picture and run out of the building. No, my little brother will be safe with me. I'll free him from himself. I'll show him that there is no point in following a dead man's law. Soon, Dexter soon.

It's not fifteen minutes later that police swarm into the building. They'll search for evidence, anything to put a face on the Ice Truck Killer. They won't find anything. Tony is gone, away to the hospital for me to put back together again, and I'm one step closer to my reunion.


	5. Love American Style

They are tearing apart the hospital. It's expected. Still, I worry. I didn't leave any trace, I'm sure, but there is something nagging me. What? What did I forget? Tools are good, bed is good, Tony is good, I didn't leave any wrappers behind. Shit. I did. I threw one on the ground. I must have picked it up, right? But I didn't. Double shit.

They won't find it. There is lots of garbage around, they won't automatically link some little piece of plastic to me, right? And the rats. There is a bad rat infestation, so they probably took the wrapper, hid it somewhere deep in the walls. There's no way they'll find it...Please, stay a bunch of incompetent fools Miami Metro Homicide.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Should I go get the wrapper? No, it'll be too suspicious and risky. Alright, so, they probably won't find the wrapper. But if they do, so what? So, they found the wrapper, linked it to the Ice Truck Killer, then what? A finger print is the best they could hope for, even then they could only get a partial print. They'll run it against criminals, and find nothing. Both Rudy Cooper and Brian Moser have clean records. Fuck on a cracker. They finger printed me at the institution . They don't run finger prints against institutional records though. No, they'd have to think about that. Which they might. Clearly I'm not in good mental health. Alright! Well, that might be a good thing. Brian Moser will be pinned as the Ice Truck Killer. Thing is, Brian Moser disappeared years ago. Around the same time Rudy Cooper came to Miami. Because I'm not Brian Moser anymore, I'm Rudy Cooper. And there are no ties between the two people. So they'll go hunting for a guy long gone. So, no harm no foul. Let them find the wrapper, it'll be a dead end. I hope.

And I'm lost with Dexter no less too. I had a plan. A damn good plan. But it failed. Dexter didn't take the bait. He is far to cautious, he would never just walk into a place and start killing. He has to know the place, and know the people. I don't blame him for what he did. It's natural. Only thing now is that I'm left with my thumb up my ass. I need another plan.

I still watch him. It isn't long after his rejection of Tony that he is on the hunt again. A Cuban that runs a salvage yard. The first time around, Dexter talks to them. Gives a fake name and reason. Today he is Dave Cutler, looking for some headlights. He talks to the owner, chats it up. Honestly, he does a better job acting in front of his kills than in his real fake life. That's good, cause I don't think we'll stick around for real fake lives. Just our real lives, and temporary fake names and lives that begin and end in the same day. It'll be amazing. Just being ourselves. I can hardly wait.

They talk and talk, all the while the Cuban victim-to-be is trying to get Dexter, or Dave as it is, out of the yard. Dave-slash-Dexter is yapping away, acting completely oblivious to all the hints that the Cuban wants him gone. Finally, Dexter gets out. I find it interesting, the way he hunts. It's so different than my own style. I'm so quick in comparison. My hunt is over within hours. But he drags it out for days at a time, sometimes even a full week. I think I like that. Stalking prey. It'll be another thing of his I'll take. We'll swap and blend styles, and we'll be amazing.

He has lunch now. He seems to like pulled pork sandwiches. They are good. Not my favorite. I'm more of a chicken guy. But he doesn't stay long. He returns home and watches TV. How exciting. I wonder what sort of TV he watches. He doesn't seem to do complex emotions very well. It'd have to be something simple. Cartoons maybe. But I can hardly see him watching Sponge Bob. It'll be something to discuss after our Reunion.

The sun goes down and he leaves again. Hunting again most likely. It's too soon for the kill, so maybe he'll just be prowling. I've divided Dexter's hunt into three parts. Stalking his prey, prowling around his prey's property and favorite spots, and then the kill. Tonight is definitely just a prowling session.

He goes to the salvage yard, no surprise. He is looking for something. I'm not sure what. These prowling sessions seem to be less for scooping out a good kill room and learning the enemy's territory and more about looking for a particular item. I'm not sure about this, but I think he is looking for proof. I know that Harry taught him to kill bad people. He seemed to really have driven it in, because ten years later, Dexter is only killing bad people. If it was that important, Harry would have probably wanted Dexter to find some proof of guilt beforehand. This is speculation though. It'll be something to ask about after The Reunion. And if I do prove to be right about this, we'll laugh and throw that law right out the window. Because a hunter of his skills shouldn't be bound like that.

Whatever he is looking for, he doesn't seem to find it. It's getting too late, and he has to leave. I bet there'll be another prowling session. Somewhere else most likely. He goes home and the lights go out. He's sleeping I presume. I take the hint and go home for some shut eye myself.

Sleep. It's good.

But then day comes again, and I have to go to work. Of course, it's my job to give Tony a new leg and hand. The irony. But the fake sister, Deb, is there also. That might be my way in. Dexter it shut out from the world, but Debra isn't. Yes, the perfect way to stay in tune with the police and Dexter. I think it's about time to get a new girlfriend.

A black cop is there too. To find out what Tony saw, to comb his brain for any information. Pity they'll find nothing. Tony I'm certain of, he knows nothing. A dead end. I expected him to be killed by Dexter, but I would never rely on him being killed. No, I'm far too careful for that. That's one thing me and Dexter have in common. It's something that every successful serial killer has in common.

I do my job like any good doctor, I tell him what to expect for the next few days. Tony is happy. How the hell is he happy? He's chopped up into little pieces. Missing limbs, but so happy. I bend down and start comparing a prosthetic leg to what remains of his right leg, making mental notes of what adjustments need to be made. I did a damn fine job taking off his leg.

"Rudy here is going to put me back together again. Good as new." He speaks in a bubbly tone to the detectives. He wouldn't be so happy it he knew it was me that took him apart to begin with. I'm starting to miss Martha. I turn and smile.

"Half the battle is attitude, and you have a great one." And how I hate you for it.

"Well, I'm alive. I didn't see that happening, but here I am." I turn and smile again. It's forced, and they can tell. I just hate him so much..."Yo pretty boy, you're steeling my thunder..." He continues to complain about me. I need out of here before I end up finishing what I left Dexter to do. Some more banter that I only smile and nod to before he sends me out. Thank God.

Speaking of God, Martha is my next appointment and waiting to see me. How fun. Sometimes I regret becoming a doctor. I just have to see so many people. And I hate people. But today, the exception comes in after I'm finished with Martha.

Jack is one of my oldest patients, and my youngest. He was born without legs, and came to me to fix that when he was three. I have to say, I don't hate Jack. I might even like him. He reminded me of Dexter. He has blonde hair and brown eyes. A little bit quiet, even more so than Dexter was at that age, but that is a lot better than most annoyingly loud children. He is incomplete, just like Dexter. And it's my job to fix that. Jack is seven, almost eight, now. He is good with the prosthetic legs, but children always are. They are young, and their minds are moldable. Jack learned how to walk with prosthetic legs, and only prosthetic legs. He's even part of a soccer team. Impressive really. Some might even call it inspiring. "Hey there Jack, how are you doing?" I smile at Jack as I enter. He got glasses a few years ago, so he doesn't look as much like Dexter anymore, but he's still a good kid.

"Good morning Rudy. Mom says my legs need to grow with the rest of me"

"Smart mom. And I can tell. You've gotten so much bigger since the last time I saw you. Somebody has been eating their vegetables." The banter and friendly play is easier with Jack. He is a child, so his emotions are a lot easier to match.

Jack laughs and his mother smiles in the corner of my small, white room. "Only cause mom makes me." Jack makes a face at the idea of eating vegetables. What is it with children and vegetables? They only taste bad if you cook them wrong. I think it's because they feel the need to live up to the stereotype.

I chuckle and kneel in front of him to get a better look at the legs. "I'm going to have to take some measurements. I don't want to give you legs that are too big." I stand up and walk to a table. I grab a tape measure and return to Jack, who is standing straight and his arms stretched out to either side. After years of this, he knows the drill. I take measurements and write them down. Just when I'm almost done I grab the kid's belly and tickle him. Giggles rip out of his mouth and fill the room.

Me? The Ice Truck Killer? No, look at how much children love me!

The day ends and I return to stalking Dexter. To date his sister, or to not date his sister? That is the question. I have a bad habit of killing my girlfriends. It's dangerous, since people know we are together. The boyfriend is always a suspect in the disappearance of a lady. I try to not kill them, but after a few months they feel they can enter my home whenever they want, and have a right to my time anytime. And God forbid you're busy. I typically kill them in their sleep. Have my girlfriend asleep in a room with me near a sharp object, and you'll get blood-coated walls.

But I feel that it's time to give it another shot. Later though, because something strange is happening.

Dexter is being social. He goes out to a club with some people from work. I hate people. Just about everyone really. I hate them even more when they are bumping into me and screaming in my ear. And I know Dexter hates that too. So why, _**why**_, is he in a club? Women are coming up to me, flirting with me, but if I bring them home, I'd most likely end up killing them. Not tonight. Why would Dexter go here willingly?

But then he leaves, with one of his co-workers drunkenly leaning on him. He has the patience of a saint. I'm just watching and I think I might end up killing someone. But they get into the car and I get into mine. I'll have to take a long shower to get all the filth off of me. Dexter apparently brings him to the wrong house too. God, I think I'll just go home now. It seems that Dexter isn't going to do anything more tonight. Of course I had to prepare incase he did. I'm off to the bar to get my car back.

Dexter is busy. Full day of work followed by another hunt. I was right about another prowling session. This time it's on a boat. It doesn't take long for him to find whatever. Seeing as he doesn't take anything, I'm pretty sure it's evidence that his prey is bad. Whatever he finds this time, he takes a picture of.

An engine hums as a white van pulls up into the lot between me and Dexter. The driver steps out and walks towards the boat. I tense. If something goes down it'll be two against one. This isn't the way that I wanted to introduce myself as Dexter's brother, but if I have to, I will. I move and get closer to the boat, still staying out of view. The man - the Cuban from earlier - steps onto the boat. I can see Dexter, quiet as a mouse and as agile as a cat, jump off the boat and onto the pier. He dashes behind a barrel and hides.

Of course. This can't be the first time complications occurred. Dexter knows how to take care of himself. Still, just in case something goes wrong, I'll have his back.

He leaves after that, and I follow suit. I have to work overtime tomorrow, and I'll need my rest tonight.

The next day is long. I work into the night. The downside of being a doctor. I'm just on my way to leave, to visit my little brother, when I see his fake sister outside Tony's room. She smiles and I smile back. Be polite, because no one thinks polite people kill people. I leave. I don't care why she is here. Trying to get more out of Tony maybe. She won't. The only piece of evidence in that entire hospital is a cough drop wrapper. I don't like it, the wrapper in all it's imperfection, but that would take some real detective work, to connect that wrapper to Rudy Cooper. Or even Brian Moser. Considering it's the same people who thought Tony was me, I'm not too worried. It's time to check in on my little brother.

Not surprisingly, he's taking the kill. Or made the kill. He isn't too into dawdling I've noticed. He does things quickly, often back to back. Tonight, he's in the salvage yard to make the kill. He appears to be in the trailer. Something's wrong though. He usually has things wrapped up around midnight or one A.M. It's sun-rise when he finally leaves. Two bodies. One of them is complete. In one piece. That's new. Something went wrong last night. Dexter seems to have taken care of it though. He's smart, resourceful. His trunk has room for two bodies. He uses his own car. I just realized that. We'll have to fix that. Hell, after our Reunion, we can even carpool.

He drives to his boat. I've never seen him actually dump the bodies. I've also never stolen a boat before. It's a first time for both. I take a smaller boat, something that he won't notice. I follow from a distance, only seeing a small speck. If he is a speck to me, I'm a speck to him, and thus unlikely to get detected. Soon, the speck that is Dexter stops, pauses in one spot for a while, and goes back towards shore. Let's play a game. I got to where he dumped the bodies. My boat has scuba gear in it. Several suits, a family plans to go diving most likely pretty soon. I don't have much time then.

I feel like Goldie Locks as I look for the suit that fits me just right. I find one that fits okay, diving suits tend to be fairly uniform, and gear up. I drop the anchor quickly. I pause right before I jump off. This feels a little bit odd, recovering a dead body. But I know Dexter didn't leave any trace behind. He never would. I dive in.

He likes this spot, so it seems. There are lots of bags. About forty or so. And then I think about all the other bags that sharks got into and ate. Or just had the bodies decay and then drifted off. Forty recent kills. Watching Dexter work, I can believe it.

I find the one that is whole. Most bags could contain anything in them, with a rather ambiguous shape. But one looks distinctly human.

As it turns out, dragging a human body to the surface is hard. God bless life guards who do it every day. Why is this body so heavy? Dead people float.

Oh. Rocks. Of course Dexter had to put rocks in the bag to make it sink. I tear open the bag and remove the rocks. Now the body floats. I didn't even have to do any work. Getting it onto the boat is a little bit harder though, but I manage. I take off the suit and put my clothes back on. I wonder if the family that owns this boat have realized that it's gone? I better park it on the opposite side of the marina.

Now this is awkward. People are starting to get here, and I have to get this dead body to my car. There has to be something in this boat. A table cloth. One of the old-school red picnic cloths. Well, Miami has always been filled with assholes and idiots, don't fail me now. I roll the body up in the cloth. It looks good. Like maybe a body isn't inside. And most people don't take dead bodies off of the boat and into the car. I'm doing things a bit backward.

The table cloth is working, to my surprise. There are only a couple of people here, and none of them care about what I'm doing. I put the poorly hid dead body in the not-my car and go back to the salvage yard. Dexter doesn't seem to have left any signs, in the yard or on the body. Good, I'm not doing this to get him caught.

I go into the trailer that was just last night a kill room. The kill room for the woman in my arms. I put the table cloth on the table, and the naked woman with a huge cut in her neck on top of it. It's beautiful work Dexter, you really do need to show off more often.

I'm sure once Dexter gets over the shock, he'll realize that.


	6. Return to Sender

Dexter looks worried. Is he that insecure? I checked things over, he didn't leave a trace. Yet he is jumpy and jittery as he walks into the trailer. This is new for him, having people know about his kill. The deep frown doesn't leave his face though. It's okay Dexter, big brother Brian won't hurt you. Ever. I'm wondering around the salvage yard in a light blue shirt and black slacks. Security sucks here. Throughout this game with Dexter I've really seen just how incompetent our police force really is. I think we need a change in policy. I'm impersonating a police officer right now, pretending to look around for clues in this salvage yard. No one has stopped me.

Wait, the police are swarming towards a car. Guns are pulled out and at the ready. The black one is in the front. He moves one hand down to open the trunk, other hand holding a gun pointed at the trunk. This isn't looking good. What is inside? A bomb? No, then they wouldn't have guns at the ready. Could it be a person? No, because if it was a person, then they might have been a witness to Dexter's...crime... Fuck. Guilt and terror, two things a textbook sociopath shouldn't be feeling, washes over me. Did I get Dexter caught? Will Dexter get caught. No, he's smart. He'll get out of it. Who is to say a person in there even saw anything? How do I know it's even a person? Right, I'll just watch and see. No reason to panic over a 'What-If'. The trunk opens, and the guns go down. See, it was probably nothing. They pull a Cuban child out.

I start walking away. My mind is numb and I turn back and keep looking at what may or may not be Dexter's doom. The kid didn't see anything. How could he see through the trunk? He can't! He's not Super-man. No, everything is fine. Fine, fine, fine. But I'm shaking and sweating. Dexter won't get caught. I know he won't. Because he is Dexter and I'm suppose to take care of Dexter and so I couldn't get Dexter caught because I'm suppose to take care of him and getting him caught isn't what I'm suppose to do and-

And shit has just hit the fan. God, why did I get the body? That kid could have just stayed there and died. I could kill the kid! But he is surrounded by police, and they'll take any information he has before they let him out of their sight. And if he saw anything...But he didn't because he can't see through a trunk. Nope, Dexter is safe.

But he's not. And it's my fault.

Dexter is sitting outside of the trailer looking about the same as me. No, calmer, since no eyes are on me currently, and people are looking in his direction. I, on the other hand, am currently losing my shit. He seems to be making an attempt at staying sane. But still there is a deep frown on his face. Don't worry Dex, the kid didn't see anything! He didn't see anything. He didn't see anything. He didn't see anything.

The key hole for the trunk is missing the lock and provides a view into the outside world.

He saw everything. I have to sit down. I think I'm sitting in a puddle either motor grease or shit of some kind. I don't really care. Dexter cannot get caught God damn it!

Deb walks towards Dex. They both drink some water out of a bottle. "Hey Deb. Who's the boy?" How the hell can he talk so calmly? Does he not realize this could mean the death of him? I take in a deep breath. No, Dexter has the right idea. Calm. Panicking never helps. We have to stay calm. He'll get out of this. I know he will. Maybe the kid didn't see anything. It was late, he could have been asleep. How do we even know he was in the right position to see Dexter through the hole? Or that he got a look at Dexter? It was dark and a distance away anyway. Besides, the kid was in there for a while it seems. He was probably hallucinating. He could have seen anything!

"All we got so far is that he's Cuban and seems to like LaGuerta. Spend enough time in a hot trunk and I guess she'll look good to anybody" Dexter laughs, but it sounds fake and hollow to me. Deb seems to buy it though.

"Did he...Y'know, see anything?" Did he? God, I need to know.

"Not sure, he seems pretty out of it" So the kid was probably sleeping, and if not, he was hallucinating. Trapped in a trunk in Miami for days? It's a miracle he isn't dead. "Social Services is on the way" Maybe I can kill the boy while he is with them. "You okay? You have a whole brow thing going on" Dexter's eye brows are knit together in a way that screams the fear that his voice doesn't.

"Morgan, bring some water" A woman with the boy calls.

Deb sighs and says, "I love her" in an oh-so sarcastic way. "Maybe I should spend some time in a hot trunk too!" she finishes as she grabs a water bottle and goes to the boy.

The boy. The witness.

Dexter stares off to the boy and what remains of his mask crumbles with no one looking. Worry, concern, panic, and... Hell no. Resignation. Nope, Dex, you're going to be fine, no reason to count yourself dead. I'll make sure of that. That's what big brother are for. I've always been there for you. And when I wasn't it was only by force and very unwillingly. I'll save you. I'll help you. Protect you. No one will ever pose any kind of threat to you Dex without me draining them dry, freezing them, cutting them up into little pieces, and decoratively placing them in public for all of Miami to view. Some little seven-year-old hallucinating Cuban boy will _not _be the end of my brother. I'll walk out right now and snap that kids neck if I have to.

And I would. I would honestly throw myself to the wolves, essentially commit suicide, to protect Dexter. Sociopaths aren't suppose to do that. And yet I would. I would kill for Dexter. Literally. Which I have already done several times. But I would kill _myself_ for Dexter. There is something about him that brings out something...human in me. Just for him.

The cops begin to leave until just a few are left. They go into the main building and I get out before someone realizes I don't belong here. It's risky to stay any longer than necessary, but I need to see. I go to the trunk and hop in. I have to press my knees to my chest, but I fit. I lower the trunk and look out the hole. Shit, the kid saw everything. The hole is lined up perfectly.

I get out of the trunk and leave.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I go home. I can't think. Dexter might get caught. Dexter won't get caught. Dexter will get caught. My mind is stuck in a continual loop. I remember how Dexter seems to be able to fix things. To sneak out of trouble undetected. He can do it again, right? I'm sure that he will. He will. He has to. I know he will. He knows what is going on in the police force. He knows how close they are to finding him.

But as the days wear on, he doesn't do anything. I'd think he was in the clear, but that look never leaves his face. Despair and resignation. Has he given up fighting before he even started? Come one Dex, I know you can get out of this. I've seen that mind at work.

He is like a deer, I realize. He freezes in the headlights. He is too cautious, and when things go completely against plan, he doesn't know what to do. So he does nothing. The problem is, Dex, doing nothing will get you killed. You have to do _something_. Anything.

I don't want to do something drastic, something that will get me killed. I'm not suicidal, but I will if I have to. The problem is, I know Dexter can get out of this. I know it. I remember him as a kid who found a unique and creative way to get out of eating his vegetables for every day of the week.

He just needs a little push, that's all. Honestly, a good frame job won't hold a candle to a hallucinating boy's eye witness account. He even had some of the victim's blood! The things you can do. Put it on a knife, some cloths, a shoe, get creative! He is away at work when I break into his house for a third time, hopefully the last time I'll have to break in.

I go to his slides. I'm sure at some point he'll start reminiscing and pull out the slides. They are all nice and labeled. Chronological order, I'm sure. I approve. I go to his latest victim, the woman. A well preserved blood sample. The things you can do. I grab a tooth pick from his kitchen, which is well stocked, something else I approve of. I carefully remove the cover slip to the slide and use the tooth pick to draw a smiley face. A little push is all he needs. I'm sure of it. He'll find it and then he'll know what to do.

But a few more days pass and I wonder if he is in complete denial. Will he just sit there, desperately telling himself everything will be fine? If he doesn't do anything in three days I'm intervening. Perfect Reunion be damned, it'll be far from perfect if he's in jail.

As it is, it's the next day he does finally act. He takes his boat out for a spin and he brings with him a duffle bag that he holds closely. His tools, and possibly his slides. To dump them. To get rid of the evidence. Well, at least it's something, but can't he just hide them somewhere else until this whole thing blows over? I don't like the idea of him losing his tools forever. Like he plans to give up killing forever. A thought occurs to me. He better not dump the slides! That blood sample could come in really handy. I steal another boat and follow with a pair of binoculars. He's bundled up his power tools and has them ready to dump. He throws his tools into the engulfing ocean one at a time. God, please Dex...Please don't. He goes for the box. Please don't dump the box. He gently lifts and opens the box. He runs his fingers across the slides as he sits down. He pulls one out and looks at it. Puts it back and another. And again. Until he pulls out one slide that particularly interests him. He shines a flashlight on it. I think he just got the hint. Now, please Dexter, take it. Take. The. Hint.

Apparently he does because he doesn't dump anything else tonight. He puts the slide back and goes home. That's it. It just took a little push to get Dexter the deer to bound out of the headlights.

He goes inside his home and works. I usually don't get close to his home, but today I peek through his window. He is transferring some blood onto a knife. That's it Dex, fight.

Fight to live.

Dexter looks more relived now. We are good. The drawings of a hallucinating child versus hard forensic evidence. Who will win?

It's the next day that Dexter is back in the salvage yard. I've been following him constantly, calling in vacation days to work. And so it's back to the salvage yard when they bring in the sketch. The sketch that may or may not contain Dexter's face.

I walk behind a row of cars towards them. Never sneak. Sneaking draws attention. Act normal and with confidence and people will trust you are where you belong. As it is, I belong here, in Dexter's shadow, watching and protecting him. There is a row of cars separating me and the sketch. It all comes down to this. I learn towards a car, pretending to examine it, until I can get a good look at the sketch.

I need to go kill that boy. Apparently, little mister hallucinations saw one Jesus Christ come in and save him. Have you ever had one of those feelings of extreme relief and exasperation? When you want to both hug and kill the person closest to you? As it is, I want to kill that little kid, and I want to hug Dexter and tell him that we're saved.

We are saved. We. Because if Dexter gets caught, I don't know what I'd do. I'd bust him out. I don't care how many people die in the process, including myself. Because Dexter and I are linked. I guess I should be worried about forming a strong connection with someone when you are a serial killer. Especially when said person is also a serial killer who very possibly has no idea of your existence. But I embrace the idea. I like it. If Dexter gets caught, he'll have me. I'll bust him out. And after the Reunion, I'll have him. We'll work together, become codependent. Because that is how brothers do it.

We'll travel across the country, killing in a twin style. I'll take tips from him, and I'm sure he'll take some from me. Everyone will know about us. 'The Moser Brothers Strike Again!' will be a reoccurring head-line.

And no little hallucinating God damned orphaned Cuban boy will stop that.


	7. Circle of Friends

Big thanks Starlightcity for identifying Brian's claimed university.

* * *

Ever since the 'Almost-getting-caught' episode I have been thinking. I remember when I first started this quest to find my long lost brother. I thought I'd mess with his head a little bit and leave. I wanted to show my true self to somebody, and I felt it should be my brother. The plan was to find him, show him I'm a monster, and leave him to sit on, and live with, that piece of knowledge.

But then I found out that he is a monster too. Never underestimate how similar siblings grow up to be. Ever since then, a connection has been growing. All my life, I've lived in two dichotomous worlds. It was me and everyone else. I did anything to help me, and everything else to hurt everyone else. Protect me, hurt them. But now it's like someone else has stepped into my little bubble of 'Me-Land'. Dexter. I need to help and protect Dexter like I do myself. And together, we'll hurt everyone else.

I'm guessing this is why I'm stepping up the stalking. It's become less for learning's sake, and more for comfort really. I like being around Dexter. I like to know he's okay and healthy. And I'd like to know if something is wrong. Another new thing, I'm getting protective over Dexter. Almost overly-protective really. Everything is just coming together, it's scary and thrilling and beautiful and ugly and breath taking all at the same time. Because, and call me crazy here, but it's like Dexter can make me _feel_. Feel things that I haven't felt in so long, like care and joy, humor and affection. All these new things. Real emotions. Complex emotions. As in not-fake. Real.

I hope he'll feel the same. That he'll want me around him. Always. I'm already always around him. Like now. He's at a crime scene, it's dark and a red light is cast on everything. Some might find it eerie, but the hunters have no reason to fear. Dexter is standing over a mutilated corpse. Police are walking around, trying to figure out what happened. Dexter is making imaginary slashes in the air with a pen. Trying to reenact the crime, I'm guessing. "I swear to Christ, Morgan, after this case I'm submitting your ass to psychiatric evaluation" A black cops walks up and says. Is someone onto Dexter? I have the sudden and powerful urge to kill this man. But not now. Dexter and I can do that after our Reunion. It'll be our first kill together. Well, second. I've been toying with, and liking, the idea of our first kill together to be Debra. Symbolic. Killing his fake sister in favor of his real brother. Cutting ties to his fake life and fully embracing his real one.

"I'm just retracing cast-off patterns" Dexter mutters in response, hardly put off. I'm a fellow sociopath and even I can see that. But this cop poses danger. A threat. He will be dealt with in time. I keep telling myself that. "Directionality angles-"

"Can you tell us what happened here or not?" Pushy. You are officially on my 'To Kill' list.

"It's an execution." Dexter states matter-of-factly.

"Pretty unlikely victim. Kid's an honor student, editor of his high school year book." Doesn't the cop know? Us sociopaths love to kill societies best and brightest. They piss us off the most.

"It's all in the knife-work. Skillful, no wasted motion. Killer had experience. Every stroke hit a major artery. Or at least came close." Dexter gets a look in his eyes. Empty, vacant, yet still appreciative of the fine piece of work before him. His mask is slipping. I feel vaguely jealous over his praise for another killer, but I don't take it personally. That look on his face is nothing compared to when I dazzle him.

"You're getting a God damn hard-on there, Morgan?" How crude. Dexter doesn't seem to have any perversion like that. Or any perversion. Or even be particularly interested in sex at all. I've seen his girlfriend come over once, and he does visit her a lot, but if it wasn't for that, I'd be slightly suspicious about his sexuality. As it is, he just seems fairly asexual.

Dexter just looks up and laughs at the comment like it's a joke. "No, it's truly horrific. He was yearbook committee you said?" He tries desperately to put the mask back on. It's okay Dex, soon you'll never have to act for them again.

The black cop, however, doesn't seem impressed. "I want your report on this tomorrow" Dexter just watches him as he leaves. What are you thinking Dexter? I wish I knew. You seem use to that sort of attitude. Is that guy the only one onto you? I hope so. Not that it matters too much. We'll skip town soon enough. But not yet, so keep it up at least a little while longer.

Dexter goes home soon after. I usually return home myself, when it becomes clear that nothing else will happen. I don't want to go home though. I want to stay. Dexter picked up some Chinese food on the way home and is now eating it in front of the TV. I wish I could join him. I still don't know what kind of TV he likes. I'm getting distracted. And I really do need to get home. I just can't bring myself to move. I like it here, parked in my car across the street from his apartment. Close to him. I don't go home. I just fall asleep right there in my car.

When I wake up it's still dark outside. I rub my eyes. How long was I out? My watch says it's almost four A.M. Now it's really time for me to drive home. I turn my car on and it purrs to life. I must have been very tired to fall asleep in my car. Between my job, Dexter, and being the Ice Truck Killer, I have a full load. I need a day to just sleep. I'll be glad for that after the Reunion, when I don't have to do all these things.

Somehow I make it home without falling asleep and crashing. Bed. Sweet merciful bed. I crawl into my silk linens and smile. Yes, beds are most certainly good.

But not the shrill buzzing of my alarm clock that follows too soon after. God, I _really_ need more sleep. I groggily make my way through my home. Shower, clean myself, and **coffee**. Lots of coffee, because I'm only ten minutes out of bed and already dragging ass. I'm usually a morning person too.

Still, through the thick and thin, I go to work. People smile as I pass and I smile back and wonder if that black cop is still giving Dexter trouble. He better not be. I sit down in my office and turn on my computer. There are fake limbs everywhere. If I had human body parts made out of plastic in my home, people would call the cops on me, but in here it's normal. I find it ironic, funny even, how I hide in plain site. More coffee is required for continued thought processes. I go into the break room and get more coffee. Black. It's how I like it. "Hey Rudy" A blonde woman with obvious fake tits says to me. Jane. Jane likes me, but hates to admit it. She is a bit erratic, especially after her divorce.

"Hey there sunshine" I smile at her. "How have you been?" I ask.

"I've been great, just great. My boyfriend - have you met him? - took me out to dinner last night. It was so romantic" She is trying the boyfriend tool again. She talks about how great her boyfriend is in hopes of getting me jealous. She's hot, and if we were both drunk, I might tap that. But I have no interest in dating her. I'd kill her after the first night. She just pisses me off so much.

"Wow, that sounds nice. Where did he take you?" I continue on with this idle chit-chat because I have nothing better to do. I finally tell her I do though so that I can leave. Back to my empty office. I like it like this. Empty. Like me. But filled to the brim with fake human pieces. Bits and pieces that look so real you almost wouldn't believe they're fake. Again, just like me. But soon people enter, nurses and staff, and they bring patients and I have to work. Work, work, work... All the way till five and it's time to leave.

I don't watch Dexter tonight. I'm too tired. Sleep depravation is getting to me. I want to watch him, to join him, but I can't muster up the strength. I barely make it to bed before I pass out. I won't watch him tonight, but I'll dream about him. About us. Our past, our future, and the game that is our present.

Dexter has the next day off it seems. So I take the day off too. Today, I'm all his. Personal body guard at the ready. He's at a high school, talking to some kid with a guitar wearing all black. Who wears all black in Miami? He deserves the impending heat stroke for his stupidity. "Hey, dude, pull in is around the corner" Guitar Boy says, clearly mistaking Dexter as a person here to pick up a kid. Like Dexter could have children in their teens, he's barely thirty.

"Hey, I'm looking for Jeremy Downs" Dexter says as he sits down next to Guitar Boy on a stone bench. Now, who could Jeremy be?

"Jeremy? He vacated-the-premises!" Guitar Boy sings the last sentence while playing what he probably imagines to be heavy metal on his guitar.

Dexter stares at Guitar Boy for a moment, most likely talking himself out of killing the kid. "Focus" Dexter snaps his finger to bring Guitar Boy back into the real world. "I'm trying to find Jeremy"

Guitar Boy smiles a knowing smile. "Oh, I get it" Guitar Boy looks around to make sure no one is listening. "Look man, I'm not really into the homo shit, but I'm kind of short on money for weed, so I guess I'll do it for less than Jeremy is charging." He says, then a thought occurs to his drug-muddled brain. "What, what does Jeremy charge?" Guitar Boy finishes. Now I _know_ Dexter is not getting a teen-aged male prostitute.

"Jeremy is selling himself?" Dexter is displeased by that fact.

"Well, I mean he's always hanging out with the broke-back boys down at Flamingo Park. Comes back with fists-full of cash" Dexter's displeased look doesn't stop, but is interrupted when his phone rings. He gets up and walks always from Guitar Boy.

He puts his phone to his ear and loud sounds come out. It sounds like a construction site. Dexter isn't too phased though, as he says, "Deb, it's my day off-" and that's all he gets in. Another pause where Deb is presumably talking, and Dexter hangs up and leaves the school. I follow him to a trailer park. It's a sad looking place. Florida is one big swamp, but this place looks like it should be in Arizona. Police are in and around it, and I know I won't have a chance in hell to sneak into it. Whatever this place is, it's big. But the action seems to be taking place out in the open. I walk around the trailer, giving it and the police plenty of room. I wouldn't want to get kicked out. Or worse, noticed that I tend to be at a lot of crime scenes. They are digging behind the trailer, through and under a large slab of cement that is probably suppose to be a porch. That might prove interesting. Dexter walks into the trailer, and disappears from view. I go around and watch them dig.

Honestly, how many crime scenes have I been at now? And no one has noticed my reoccurring face. Once again, I'm a curious by-stander.

Dexter comes walking out again and past the giant hole in the ground to his fake-sister. "Hey Dex. Thought you'd want to be here. Something is buried down there. Masuka has been digging all night." Someone did something bad then. Still, this seems like a relatively small case for so much attention.

"I hate to break it to you, but you know you have the wrong guy here, right?" Dexter says so surely. "The Ice Truck Killer drains the blood from his victims, freezes their bodies, and only then severs their limbs." What, they think _I_ live here? Me? The infamous Ice Truck Killer lives in a trailer park? Someone needs to be punished for this mistake. "It's clean and efficient. That's his psychological signature" Thank you Dex! I would never live here. I'm afraid I'll get aids from this place just by looking. "Neil Perry on the other hand stuffs road kill" I'm guessing that I'm missing something from inside the trailer. Stuffed road kill. I grab a Lysol wipe just for the thought. Who stuffs road kill? Honestly, society has failed, and it's my job to clean it up.

"Yeah, and turns it into fucked up fantasy shit" Crypto taxidermy I'm guessing. What a lovely way for the dregs of the sociopath community to spend their time.

"But the fantasies are all wrong. The guy we are looking for wouldn't turn dead dirty things into living cartoons. He'd find that pathetic" And it is pathetic.

"How do you know?"

"Because it is pathetic." Great, so that's two of us that agree. "Deb, trust me. Neil Perry isn't a killer, he's a dabbler, he's a waste of time" Dexter says as they pull a skeleton out of the hole. Now, that is just a really bad coincidence. Dexter doesn't notice though, since his back is turned to it. "If the guy we are looking for took his early fantasies out on animals, he'd probably bury them not display them." Actually I cut them up into really tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Outside time was always completely supervised. Too many things to hurt ourselves and others with.

"What about an early human kill? Would he bury that too?"

"Sure, probably"

"Then turn around." And Dexter does, seeing the skeleton. Come on Dexter, you know better than to think that's me. Miami is a big city. People kill other people all the time. I'm not the only one around. I'm just the best one around,

Two men are examining the decayed body of a woman. "Looks like an adult female. Any idea how long the body has been down there?"

"Based on decomposition, she's been tits up for two, maybe three years. We'll know more after the autopsy" Dexter walks over to them, not believing what he is seeing. Come on Dex, like I'm the only killer in Miami?

"What happened to the limbs, did they rot off?" Dexter asks. I can't tell from this angle if her limbs are cut off. I try to get closer so I can tell.

"Hey, sir, you're not suppose to be here." A police offer finally notices me. I shouldn't have tried to get in closer.

"Oh, sorry, I just wanted to know what was going on" I try to act as an innocent by-stander.

"If there is something you need to know, we'll say it in a press conference" The police officer says and he guides me away from the scene. I'll have to come back here. There is no way that they honestly think that is me, right? I get back into my car. No point in staying now. It'll just look suspicious.

I wait a few blocks away for Dexter to drive by. Knowing him, he'll probably go back for this Jeremy kid.

Instead he goes home. Briefly, just for a wardrobe change. A cap, sunglasses, and a dark jacket. Someone is going to do something illegal. Although he is not wearing his usual sweater. I've noticed he has a long-sleeve, dark green shirt he likes to wear when he does illegal stuff. It's both causal while being practical for serial killers. I'd like to hold it up to a dark-light and see how much it glows.

He jogs in the park, as though it seems to be the right thing to do right now. Maybe he is just getting some exercise? I jog a little ways away from him too. I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Not the best exercise attire. I'd think that this visit was completely innocent, but he's at Flamingo Park. He's going after Jeremy Downs. To kill him. He pulls his hood up and slows to a walk towards a boy, Knife Boy from the swamps, who immediately notices him. Knife Boy, Jeremy most likely, starts to walk ahead of Dexter, the two keeping pace but about ten feet apart. "Hey, you want company?" Jeremy asks, looking back at Dexter.

"Just keep walking and looking ahead." Dexter says in a rough, clearly faked-voice.

"There's some mangroves over by the lake, we can go in there." They continue a little ways further, and that tension from the swamp returns. The hunter is about to pounce, the kill is looming over head, no escape in sight. It's thrilling. It feels like a thunderstorm. The air is charged and the unstoppable is about to occur.

"It's too public, my car is in the parking lot" Dexter replies. The lion herding the sheep into his den, Jeremy Downs will soon be no more.

"Well, are your windows tinted?" Jeremy looks back and asks, slightly panicked. Fear is settling in. He must realize Dexter isn't like his usual client. He's just too stupid to accept it.

"I said eyes front" Dexter corrects him. They continue a little ways and Jeremy stops. "What's wrong?" Dexter probes. What is wrong indeed? It probably looks weird when three, seemingly unrelated, people spread apart all stop at the same time.

"Shit! Shit!" Jeremy yells as he runs from several people giving chase to him. The black cop that harassed Dexter is among them. As he runs by, he knocks Dexter to the ground. "Get the fuck out of my way!" I have to kill that guy really soon. Dexter slowly gets off the ground and hides behind a tree. I back away, still appearing completely innocent.

A childhood memory comes to me. When there was this kid in the neighborhood that would push Dexter down and scare him. He often wouldn't leave until Dexter cried. I note with irony that guy probably grew up to become a killer. But I remember how I hurt that child. How he needed stitches after I was done he with him. And I was five then. That cop is going to need a lot more then just stitches. Like a casket.

Dexter gets up and leaves fast. I follow, but I have to keep my distance. He can't notice me. He was thrown off, his plan went too wrong, too fast. It scared him. He gets into his car and hits the steering wheel. He is frustrated too. I don't blame him, nothing is worse then a good plan that goes bad. He drives off, and I wish I could follow but I can't.

Because I have a party to attend. Tony, my only victim that got away, well most of him anyway, is going to celebrate walking out of the hospital with his new leg. There'll be alcohol, hookers, and Dexter's fake sister. How fun it'll be.

Deb. The perfect way to get to Dexter. So long as I don't kill her.

I go home to change into more appropriate clothes and it's time to party. Everyone is holding champagne and smiling. I'm smiling too. Gotta look normal. Tony is in his bed under a blanket, hiding his new leg. I'm expected to give a speech about how brave and courageous Tony is. He just got lucky, that's all. It was just dumb luck. "Here's to my new hand" Tony says. And it's a nice hand. I do good work. Most people have to do a double take to realize it's fake.

It's time for my speech congratulating Tony on his recovery. I feel like a small child forced to apologize to a classmate for putting glue in his hair. "Some say bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid. But I've worked with a lot of amputees, and I gotta say, I don't think Tony knew he was afraid" I joke. He just doesn't know he should be afraid that I'll come back. If he keeps pissing me off, I will. But everyone laughs anyway, because they can't read my mind or hear the dark thoughts that always smolder in the depths of my mind. "Here's to one crazy bastard" I end my little speech, taking a drink of champagne.

"Kiss my atrophied ass" Tony says to me in a friendly gesture. "Now, time for the main event."

"Medical Marijuana?" Deb cuts in. She's not a very good cop. She is surrounded by hookers and talking about getting high. That's okay though. I just need her to get to Dexter.

"You wish. Can you, uh, help me out here Rudy?" And I pull the blanket off of him, showing his new leg. Everyone claps and Deb cheers.

"Look at that shit. Half human, half machine" some random whore comments. Well, now I know why she is a whore. Clearly, she isn't college material.

"But all man, baby" Tony shoots back. He truly is a horn dog. Tony tries to stand and I start to help him. "I got it" and I leave him to do it himself. He carefully stands, one real leg, and one fake leg. Everyone claps and Tony starts talking to the whore from earlier. I turn to Deb. I can be very charming, it's all part of the faking complex emotions thing.

"So you made that hand and foot?" She asks. I just nod. I did make them. I made the cast and mold and everything. It's how I do things. "You did a good thing" I wonder if it off sets the bad things? Like removing the leg and hand to begin with.

"Tony lost a piece of himself, and I helped him find it" This metaphorical-emotional stuff is always hard to get, but it makes you seem deep when you pull it off right. "How often do I get to make someone whole?" I shoot at her, flirtatious double entendre clear and present.

"I wouldn't know" she smiles at me. "It's like living art, what you do" I prefer it when my art is dead. Dead and cold.

"It's funny you should say that, because before I turned to prosthetics, I studied the human form at the University of Paris-Sorbonne." I brag and flirt with an obvious lie, and she listens and falls for it. She probably doesn't even know what the University of Paris-Sorbonne is.

"Really?" She has that look on her face that women get. When she doesn't really care what I say, just that I'm saying something to her. It means my come-ons are working like a charm.

"Yeah" and I look down and laugh, as though it's something to be modest about. Humility is preferred over arrogance in a mate. "Have you had dinner yet-"

"I would love to" She cuts in, overly eager. That is a turn off in a mate in common society, but it works fine for me. She's just a bridge for me to cross to Dexter.

We are interrupted when the black cop, Doakes I remember from early, walks in with a six pack of hard lemonade. "I thought I'd show my support" he says, clearly feeling out of place. An awkward silence stretches on due to Deb's and my flirt session being interrupted. "Bad time?"

"Oh, no, no" I correct him. I don't want to seem rude in front of my soon-to-be girlfriend. "Have some champagne sergeant" I say as I hand him a glass. He nods in thanks.

I'm very good at reading people. Emotions are illogical and hard to follow, but I've learned well. A person is like a mathematical formula, you enter in several different events and actions around them, and they work with the constants in the formula, a person's beliefs and views, and out comes emotion. The problem is that every formula is different, and complex. Luckily I've always been good at math. And Deb is easy to read. She is clearly not a dainty girl, and would feel out of place in a high-class restaurant. She wants to know me, and would get distracted and confused if I tried to take her anywhere fancy. I'll let her get to know Rudy Cooper, fun-loving and care-free doctor who wants to make the world a better place. It'll be a while before she meets Brian Moser, the Ice Tuck Killer.

Point is, a hot dog joint close to the hospital is where she would want to go. She likes causal, I can tell. Can't get more casual then a hot dog vendor. We are sitting on the hood of my car passing a champagne bottle back and forth, hot dogs already bought and eaten.

Casual conversation flows between us as we get to know each other better. I want to learn about Dexter. About his life and childhood. I want to hear from him personally, but Deb is the best I can do for a while. "So, tell me about your family. Parents, siblings?" Both of her parents are dead and have been for a while, her mother from cancer and her father from a heart attack. One adopted brother. But I want to hear her say it. It's different to hear it all from an eye witness. Deeper than some news articles and police reports.

"My mom died when I was sixteen - cancer - and then it was just me and my brother, and dad". I feign surprise at the fact that she has a _fake_, something she neglected to say, brother, but my interest in genuine. I'll have to see is she even knows he is adopted.

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah, Dexter" as though I don't already know. I've only been following him for several months now. "He and my dad were really tight" human stalking, killing, and butchering lessons no doubt were their primary bonding time. "They were always spending time together. I guess I was jealous." She says the last sentence as though it was funny and cute. Dexter and Harry were close, it seems. Harry taught Dexter to kill, it's a pretty good guess anyway, so I always knew they spent a lot of time together, but the idea of this connection Dexter shares with Harry, the man who inadvertently caused our mother's death and our separation. Dexter is lost, I realize. He was taken in by Harry and taught lies that I knew better than to buy. Who knows the kind of brainwashing that went on? How do you teach a person who to kill when they hold no love or remorse for anyone or anything? I really do wish Harry was still alive, Dexter and I could have so much fun killing him. Deb will have to do.

I return back to the here and now. I can't blow things with Debra. She seems pretty into me, but if I lose her, I lose my bridge to Dexter. "What, you mean you weren't daddy's little girl?" Wouldn't life have been so much simpler if Harry didn't push our mother into certain death? I could have Dexter and Deb could have Harry.

"No, I was. Kind of... He just took a special interest in Dex" I wonder if she knows he is adopted? If even Dexter himself knows? "I think that's why I became a cop. That's what he was. I thought maybe he would give me more attention or something."

"And did he?"

"Not really" and we both laugh, even though it isn't funny. Not even by normal people standards. "But we had our moments. What about you. How did you become...Captain Hook?" Worst. Nickname. Ever. If I wasn't already going to kill her, I'd kill her just for that. Still, I feed her the sob story I've been telling for a long time. It's partly true, too.

"Well, when I was little, my mom got in a car accident. She lost both her legs" and her arms and head.

"That's terrible." Yes, Deb, it was very sad. If only you knew the full story.

"Yeah, I remember when it happened" I start. I put the perfect mixture of sadness and remorse combined with acceptance. "I just wanted to put her back together" true. I wanted my mother to become one once again. "You know, like Humpy Dumpy" I remember sitting in the pool of blood, thinking about how it's no wonder all the king's men and all the king's horses couldn't put Humpy Dumpy back together again. "Just, the pieces weren't around" Lie. They were around. Rotting and decomposing right in front of me. That's why frozen bodies are so much nicer. Preserved. Deb gets a look of sorrow and understanding on her face. To her, a man just laid himself bare and showed her his inner-most scars. A sensitive boyfriend.

You hear about some guy that snaps and kills everyone around him. How his friends and family talk about how normal and nice he was. Want to know the truth? It was all a big lie. He always hated everyone until finally he just couldn't hide it anyone, and the need to kill everyone become stronger than his fear of death. That's what happens. That is why most serial killers, that don't start a family then later snap and kill them all that is, are alone, single, and keep to themselves. Because everyone pisses them off so much that it gets too hard to _not_ kill them. Deb should thank me, because there is no doubt the day will come when Dexter snaps and kills her, with or without my help. I'm just speeding things up really.

Still, Deb is impressed by me so much that she kisses me. A kiss that turns into a make-out session right there, in public. On the hood of my car. In front of a hot dog stand. I'm typically against public displays of affection, but right now I need to woo Deb. And if that means a make-out session right here and now, so be it.

Because I'm crossing the bridge to meet you face to face, Dex.


	8. Shrink Wrap

Deb doesn't hold out. A few more dates later, and I'm in her bed and she's in my pants. Another down-side to the girlfriend thing, I have to play nice in bed. We've already established that I have some bad habits, several of which are in bed. I'm usually only gentle with amputees. There is just something about them.

Bet Deb isn't an amputee, so I have to hold back. More than that, I have to be _romantic_. Soft and gentle. It's all part of the act. I wonder if I'll ever have a chance to go full force with her. But the only time I would really have the chance is when me and Dex are finishing her off during our Reunion, and I don't think Dex is into that kind of thing. Oh well, you win some and you lose some. I'll just have to settle for owning Deb in every other aspect, from killing her to replacing her by her brother's side.

So, gentle sex. Normal sex. Sex that is good for both parties. Not my style, but it seems I have to get use to it, because Deb is a closet nymphomaniac. Great. Lots of crappy sex. I lie in bed next to her, catching my breath and getting ready to say something cute-slash-sexy-slash-funny when her phone goes off. "Shit. It's dispatch. I have to go" She turns to me and gives me an apologetic smile. Her car is still at the hospital where we met, so it's up to me to drive her to the scene.

"I'll get my pants" I jest lightly as I get up and dress. She soon follows after. We are walking out of her home and into a raging storm. "Looks like it's coming down pretty hard" I note. I've always liked a storm. It's reflective of my inner self; dark, violent, and unforgiving.

"Yeah, looks like I'll have a hell of a time sleeping tonight" She grabs a black umbrella and runs out, dragging me with her. I don't like being touched, and particularly man-handled. I do the handling. Still, she is my link to Dexter. To be his friend. Not just to follow him, but to have him look at me and know I'm a friend. Well, a fake-friend that's part of his fake-life at first, but then I'll reveal my real self, and I'll be his first real friend. A real brother. With no strings and lies attached.

I park in front of a large house, police are outside and there is yellow tape barely visible through the storm. The lights are off in the house, along with all the other houses around it. A few flashlights and candles can be seen from inside the houses. I'm guessing a black-out. Deb seems a lot more interested in my neck though. Once I park I return the kiss. She clearly wants more. I'll just have to match her libido. "Come on, I got to go. There is a dead body in that house" I stop kissing her long enough for sexual innuendoes.

"There's a hot body in here" I need to make it appear as though I need and want the sex as much as she does. If she thinks that I'm sexually uncomfortable with her, our relationship will go south fast. Can't have that.

"I _so_ want to maul you right now"

"I so want you to." I feel wrong just saying that. I'm not a sixteen year old girl, and neither is she. So why does she insist we act like this? "Call me when you are done, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll bring handcuffs" That's one good thing about Deb and her overactive sex drive, at least she is into some kinky stuff. She grabs the umbrella and runs out to the open door. A couple of people go to greet her and I leave. She'll call me when she is done, and then probably jump me. Fun-fun.

I go home and turn on the news. They are talking about the Ice Truck Killer. Everyone seems so certain they have the right guy. I'm curious as to how long this will go on. Will Neil Perry go to jail for my crimes? I've already learned that our criminal system is horrifically deformed, but this badly? I've withheld from killing for a while now, well, displaying my kills that is, just to see how long this 'Neil Perry' episode will continue.

And he does stuff road kill. The press got into his trailer and showed the world the home of the 'Ice Truck Killer'. If they saw the home of the real Ice Truck Killer, then they would be sorely disappointed. They paint his abode to be some evil lair, containing various fantasy stuffed animals put together from other, real and dead animals. Can they not see that there is no way I'd ever do that? Dexter knew instantly, that the Ice Truck Killer would never, _ever_, stuff road kill. Is it a sociopath thing? Is it not obvious to everyone else? I'm clean, neat, and orderly. Perry is dirty, filthy, and chaotic. Maybe they know deep down that it's the wrong guy, but are so desperate to get the Ice Truck Killer they'll take anyone.

The thing is, they found some rather compelling evidence it seems. He has a car that is thought to belong to the Ice Truck Killer, another situation where switching cars has worked out nicely, and he has photos not released to the press. Honestly, do they believe I take photos of my victims and keep them in my house? What kind of idiot would do that? Me, the person who never leaves a trace, doing something so stupid? Then again, I do have my freezer, but you would have to be looking for evidence to find any. At any given time, anyone can walk into it and not notice anything.

What's more is that Perry seems to know facts about the case that any average Joe shouldn't know. The thing is, he doesn't know what only the Ice Truck Killer knows. I don't know if they tried to get any additional information out of him, or if he didn't give anything, but I'm guessing he hacked into police files. He is a computer geek.

This is another situation where Deb is coming in handy. Simply by acting like a good boyfriend and taking an interest in her work, I can get useful information. I asked what she thought about the Ice Truck Killer suspect. She swears he's the guy. I asked her what Dexter thinks, and she says that he doesn't think so. Apparently Dexter has very good detective skills when it comes to killers. Never wrong. It's a good thing no one in the force has applied the old saying, 'It takes one to know one' to Dexter.

I talk about Dexter too much. I'm doing so well with everything else. All but that. It's hard not to ask. To learn about the inner workings of Dexter when a source is right in front of me. I typically tell her that I'm just trying to take an interest in her life. I don't let it progress into a fight, God forbid I lose my bridge, by doing something goofy and romantic. She gets hearts in her eyes and forgets about my obsession with her _fake_ brother, my _real_ brother.

My phone rings, indicating a new text message. 'Hey, done here. Ready and waiting for some more action ;)' How nice, my girlfriend is going to jump me again. I think I'm less of a boyfriend and more of her walking, talking dildo.

I go and pick her up. The storm hasn't calmed yet, so she is still using her umbrella. I head to the hospital so she can pick up her car. "So, how was it?"

"Bloody. Some girl shot herself in the bath tub." Deb replies as though it is nothing. Both of us are use to death. For different reason, but still.

"Then why did they call in homicide?"

"Standard procedure. Just to make sure there wasn't any foul play" The homicide department can't even piece together that stuffed road kill doesn't equal Ice Truck Killer, how can they figure out what is and isn't foul play?

"What's Dexter's verdict? He's good at detecting foul play, or so I hear" I jump back to Dexter again. I really need to stop doing that.

"Not anymore" The oh-so lady-like Debra snorts "He's still insisting that the Ice Truck Killer is out there. I mean, Perry has already confessed! What more does he need?" I want to point out that Neil Perry only knows what the police know, that the Ice Truck Killer is careful and traceless, while Perry literally framed himself. That he takes parts of dead animals and puts them together again to make something that appears alive, the exact opposite of the Ice Truck Killer. Of me. But I don't say that. That'd just be stupid. Again, the Ice Truck Killer is careful and traceless.

"Well, what does he say this time?" I continue on.

"Says it's suspicious. That ladies don't shoot themselves, they take pills or bleed themselves to death. How sexist, thinking that all suicidal women are the same." Again, I bite my tongue to stop from agreeing with Dexter. Raised in a mental institute, I know suicide cases. Everyone wanted out, some didn't care where 'Out' was. Of course the sample may not be a fair reflection, since it purely consists of mentally ill women. But Dexter is right. With the basic idea anyway. Men tend to go out more with a bang, and women more quietly. Not that we had control over the medication they gave us, or guns, which I agree is a good thing, but the men typically tried to barge their way out or die trying. They'd snap necks and bash in heads in their path to freedom. When sedation didn't work, the police came. They didn't care, they just kept on snapping necks and bashing in heads until the police shot them and they got their freedom.

Women, on the other hand, they did it in some quiet corner. They always got creative too, since the doctors and nurses went to such extremes to prevent us from killing ourselves. Really, they were some of my early inspiration. I remember a nimble young lady of twenty-three years old. Went into the bathroom with tile floors, ran up the wall in some matrix fashion, threw her head back in mid-air, and landed on her head, breaking her neck and cracking her skull. Then there is always the classic 'Drowning yourself in the toilet bowl.' when you put your head in the bowl, tie it down so that pesky instinct won't get in the way, and letting nature take it's course. They had bathroom checks every ten minutes to prevent this, but people still got through. Ten minutes is plenty of time to do major brain damage. If they came back alive, they were too mentally challenged to realize how miserable they were. Then there was my favorite, the blood circle. A group of five women stood in a circle, each with a knife stolen from the kitchen, and on the count of three, they stabbed the person to their right in the neck.

Point is, men make a scene when they kill themselves, women don't. Dexter's instincts are dead on. No wonder why many detectives in the force rely on him for pointers.

We get to the hospital and she gets out of my car to pick up her own car. She walks to my window and leans in. "So, are you gonna follow me back to my place?" She asks in a suggestive tone that leaves no room to question what we will do once there.

I lick and kiss at her neck, showing her that I at least want to. "Sorry, but I have work tomorrow and it's already one in the morning" and it's all true. Sometimes I regret starting to date Deb. Not only am I a doctor, serial killer, and stalker, but now I'm a boyfriend too. Sleep time is getting far to scarce.

"Alright, I get it, you can stop with the neck then, cause now you're just teasing" I obediently stop and pull back. I chuckle and drive away. God how I hate that woman. And I've had to cut back on my stalking time too. Deb is a high maintenance girlfriend. Honestly, the only thing that has kept me from stabbing her in the eye yet is the thought of saving her for Dexter's and my first team kill. It'll be delicious.

When I finally do get around to following Dexter again, he does something that makes me cringe. He goes to a therapist. Doesn't he know that a therapist is well trained, just like us? They can tell when you are lying, Dex.

Still, he goes in, and comes out an hour later. I know Dexter isn't honestly seeing a therapist. Is he going to talk about his non-existent feelings? His problems during the hunt? No, there is nothing he can tell the doctor without having to kill him.

Which is why he is probably going to kill him. I'm guessing he is on the hunt. The therapist is his prey. Deb texts me wanting sex yet again. And I oblige. Within thirty minutes I'm in her room and she is riding me fiercely. Moans and gasps and soon we are done. I kiss her on the lips and then move down to kiss her legs. Women like affection after sex. Deb is no different. "I love your legs" I say as I kiss her legs. I move up, kissing her belly, then her arms. "I love your arms. Couldn't have made them better myself" She does have nice limbs. Many nights I have stared at them, wanting to take her apart as though she was a Barbie doll with detachable limbs. Her heavy breaths gets slightly more erratic. I better have not turned her on again. I was just trying to be cute. But I look up and freeze. She is crying. Did I do something? What did I do? I can't think of anything that would offend her. "What's wrong" I mutter so softy I'm surprised that she heard. I move my head so that my face is just a few inches from hers.

"I'm fine" while clearly she is not. This is customary for normal people, claiming to be fine. Crying after sex, not so much. "I'm sure this is really hot, crying after sex" I like it when women cry. Not that she needs to know that. Yet.

"Did I do something?" I mutter gently again. She just lets another sob out and covers my eyes. She takes my ability to see away, controlling my vision, and it angers me. But I don't let her see that. This is a 'Tender moment', and I need to play my cards well.

Finally, she responds. "I'm never really with someone. We just fuck" really, that's her fault for trying to get into my pants so much. If she wants a boyfriend and not a fuck buddy, she shouldn't give it up so soon and so much. That isn't what a good boyfriend should say though.

"Not this time" I say and she removes her hand from my eyes.

"It's different" she whispers in a husky voice "It feels like" she pauses, trying to find the right word "I'm not saying it, it sounds so fucking cheesy."

"It feels like making love" I finish her sentence. Oh yes, I am a master of lies.

"Ew" but she smiles. Small banter flows between us, and I know this relationship just moved a step up. That's okay. I like the idea of crushing her. Which I will.

If I'm not going to physically hurt her, as much as I want anyway, then I'll emotionally ruin her. Then kill her. But she'll be begging for death the way that I'll mind fuck her.

It's a few days later when I pull another sappy boyfriend move. I call her into my office, telling her that I need her help. I'm working on an arm when she knocks and enters. "Stay where you are; I'm armed" I say as I hold up the arm.

She gives a polite chuck and says "Bad pun" and it was. No one suspects the guy with bad puns to kill hookers. I put down the arm and kiss her deeply. "You said you needed a favor. What's up?"

"Take off your pants"

"Oh, I should have known it was that kind of favor. You never ask me to come by before work" Always having her mind in the gutter. Typical Deb.

"No, but I like the way you think. I have a patient who lost both her legs in a car accident. Really brutal."

"Like your mom?", I give pause, not use to people referring to my fake past.

"Which is why I want to do something special for her. I want to give her a new smokin' pair of legs. Yours."

"No" She doesn't like the idea. I'm not sure why, normal people can be so erratic sometimes.

"We'll just take a cast" I explain. It really won't take long, and she'll have to do minimum effort. Just sit there and let me do the work.

"No way, no" She keeps repeating. I pull her towards me, the chair anyway.

"It'll take twenty minutes, tops" If that even. I'm pretty damn good at dealing with human limbs.

"I don't-"

"Please...Stop being such a chick" I say as I pull her pants down and sit her on the chair. It's odd. Usually when a woman is telling me no while I pull her pants down, it's not like this. She finally quiets. "Sit down" I softly instruct her. She complies. I completely remove her pants and she looks nervously at the door. Relax Deb, people know how to knock around here. I get Vaseline and rub it on her legs. She laughs at the uniqueness of it all.

"Feels good" She mutters softly. I look up at her to kiss before I carry on with the process of making a cast of her legs. "Can I make one of your cock?" Leave it to Deb to completely ruin the romantic moment I was creating. Not that it particularly matters, just so long as she feels closer to me.

"That'd be a hell of a story to tell at work, huh?" I come back at her without missing a beat. She laughs.

"Not likely. I haven't told anyone about us." Wait, no one? Not even Dexter? He still doesn't know about my existence?

"Embarrassed about banging Captain Hook?" Because I can't let my frustration shine through.

Her face loses all humor and I worry I said something wrong. "Not even a little" ah. She wants to show me she is serious. Good. I have serious plans for her too. Granted, our plans probably go off in very different directions, but I'm not about to dump her.

"Then why?"

"Cause this matters to me" she replies, voice cracking. Oh hell, is she going to cry again? From laughing to stoic to in tears all in under thirty seconds. I'm guessing someone has PMS. I'm having trouble keeping up, knowing her emotions and why. If she keeps this up I won't be able to say perfect boyfriend stuff. "So that if I talk about it and it goes away, I'm actually losing something" Doubt. Uncertainty. Emotions that I know, understand. I latch onto them, using them to piece together things. "That retarded?" Shit. My mind took too long to catch up. The pause only spread her fears. Not what a perfect boyfriend boys.

I bend down and my face is close to hers. "No" I say with unquestionable certainty. "I gotta tell you, I'm not going anywhere" I lean in to kiss her, but she pulls back. Was that not the perfect boyfriend line? What's wrong now? God, even with my years of practice, a PMSing woman is impossible to read.

"Seriously?" She whispers. I just nod and lean in for the kiss.

"And neither are you, cause I got your legs" I joke, turning this conversation back into light, easy to understand, banter. We both laugh as I continue making the cast. I gently roll a cloth around her leg for the next step.

Apparently making a cast of her legs turns Deb on, because soon her lips are on mine and her hands are in my pants. I must satisfy my girlfriend's never ending sex drive once again.

And then I finish the cast, because nothing is worse than leaving a project half-done. The process itself only took about the estimated twenty minutes. It was the sex that took up the other thirty minutes. But soon Deb leaves, saying that she'll be late for work, but has a smile on her face that tells me she doesn't care. I smile back and kiss her goodbye and she darts out of my office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My smile drops immediately and a dark scowl creeps onto my face. I continue making the new pair of legs using the casts. I lost track of her emotions.

You see, I can't relate to ninety-nine percent of human emotions. You can't just put me in the middle of a scene and expect me to get what people are feeling. I need to know why someone is feeling what they are. I need to know what they will feel before they feel it. And in order to do that, I need to know what their current feelings are. New feelings are built off of old ones. If I know the person, and I know their current emotional state, I figure out their future state for most given events. The problem arises when I don't know their current emotional status. Without that, that I don't know their future state, or any future state after that until I get back on track. And today, just ten minutes earlier, I got off track. That, in and of itself, pisses me off to no end.

But that isn't what even _really_ pisses me off. She hasn't told anyone about us. This includes Dexter. I know this plan will take time, but come on Deb! I want to meet Dexter face to face, to have him see me. I don't want to lurk in his shadow anymore. Once Deb introduces us, I can work on befriending him. Once I'm friends with Dexter, Deb will have fulfilled her purpose, and will no longer be required. But before all of that happens, Dexter has to know Deb has a boyfriend. I haven't even gotten past step one. I want to kill Deb so much right now. So terribly, terribly much...

I work the rest of the day, eager to get home and to work on actually _progressing_ my plan. It's a depressing thought, but I'll have to suck up my anger and smile, being Deb's perfect boyfriend yet again. But I'm too angry, frustrated at the lack of progress. I'm a patient man, but only when something is being done. I don't like to sit around and be idle.

I'm too angry. I have to blow off some stream, and I only know one way how. I get a girl right after work, too careless and angry to switch cars this time. I'm sexually frustrated too, with how many times Deb has forced me to hold back. I don't even pretend I'll pay her. I never give her the idea that she will leave here alive. The sex is hard, and she begs for me to stop. Doesn't she know? I love it when women cry.

I don't take my time killing her either. It's quick, the way I drain her and begin the freezing process. I have left her out to warm, the bodies are very cold after the nitrogen, for a few hours. My temper has gone down. It's good, now I can call Deb without making death threats. I pick up the phone and sit down on my couch to call her.

"Hello?" She answers, breathless. Singing is in the background.

"Is that Eric Carmen?" I ask, my voice lightly mocking. Rustling and the music ends.

"No" comes her obvious lie. "What's up?" she asks before I can call her on it.

"I'm running late. I'm in the middle of some house work and if I don't get it done before I see you it's going to drive me crazy."

"I never knew you were so anal." Really? She should know that by now.

"And, I'm a neat freak" I also give her that little fun fact about my sex life. It's just the beginning of my fetishes.

"You're just full of surprises, huh?"

I chuckle and say, "Oh, you have no idea" And she doesn't. Soon, though, she'll know. Maybe not all of it though. I don't think neither Dexter nor myself will stop to fully explain things before we kill her. "I'll be there as soon as I can"

"'Kay" and she hangs up. Oh, she has no idea at all. The body could use a few more minutes to warm so I go to the computer. I've been aware that Dexter might try to contact me via internet ads, He hasn't so far, so I stopped checking so often, but I still do from time to time. Just in case. I go to Craig's List and check for any new 'Lost Connections' in Miami that might involve me. 'frozen barbie looking for ken' How cryptic. I'll take a guess that's for me. I click on the link.

'Dear Ken,

I'm in pieces. Why the cold shoulder?

Love,

Barbie'

Not exactly how I pictured the message, but oh well. It gets the point across quite well. Besides, the fine art of symbolism can be very hard for sociopaths to grasp. I click the 'Rely to Ad' button at the bottom corner.

'Barbie, Be patient. One day we'll share a cold one.' I click send and walk towards the freezer, checking the time. It won't take too long to wrap this Barbie up. I hope Dexter doesn't take my vague response personally. The better things in life are never rushed, and our Reunion will be the best thing in either of our lives. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dexter reached out. He's cautious, but not disabled.

I enter my freezer and put my gear back on to return to work. This girl is almost done, just a few more finishing touches. No one will see her though. I don't want to reappear yet. I have enough blood for my surprise for Dexter. This girl, sad to say, will forever be lost.


	9. Father Knows Best

I've been telling Deb that I want to meet her friends and family, what any normal boyfriend does in time. Of course, I only want to meet one person; Dexter. Luckily he is her only friend and family member. My nagging hasn't done anything though. I don't like to sit idly by, waiting for something to happen. That isn't my style.

So what if I take things into my own hands? I do love control. And if an innocent man has to die? So be it. Five other people have already died in the name of this game. So why should it matter so much if the next victim is our father? No, it doesn't. I tell Deb I'm going fishing, that I'll be gone all day. She makes suggestive remarks as to what we can do when I return. Is sex the only thing she thinks about?

I don't go fishing. I go to Dade City to pay dear old dad a visit. After what happened with my mother and being institutionalized and all that, I was largely cut out of the will. I was a messed up little kid. He was ashamed of me. Pretended I didn't exist. I remember when they first put me in the hospital, how I kept calling him and writing to him, wanting him to visit. Any familiar face would be good. But he never came. He said he would, he lied. He would give me a day and time, and I'd wait. I waited for a long time.

Dexter, on the other hand, was a sweet little kid who had a little set back, a hurdle. He is Joe's, our father, executor. Joe has turned his back on me, so I don't feel bad about showing him no mercy either. I tell myself these things as I pull in front of his home, under the guise of a cable repair man. Oh yes, I'm going old school here. I step out of my car and grab my metal box, which contains a crow bar, a wrench, a sedative, and some diabetic insulin. Everything I need to kill a man, make it look like a heart attack, and appear as a cable repair man all at the same time. I just threw random tools into the box really. I don't intend to use them, they are just there to make my box seem appropriately heavy. "Yoo-hoo! Cable repair man!" I turn and look around at an old lady hobbling across the street to meet me. I didn't know that old ladies really said 'Yoo-hoo'. I look back at Joe's house. I'm not suppose to get attention. Repair man goes in, and goes out. No one takes note. But this old lady is slowly getting across the street, waving frantically at me. I wish a car would come speeding down this road and smash her. No such luck. What the hell is wrong with her? Well, it'll be more note worthy if I was rude and stood her up. I walk up to meet her in the street.

"Hello miss. Need anything?" I try to be as polite and non-memorable as possible. I truly do hate it when a good plan goes bad.

She looks at me and gives a thankful smile that makes me want to hit her." My TV isn't working and I was hoping you could fix it" Great. I have no tools and limited knowledge on how to fix a TV. This is suppose to be in and out.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm here for Mr. Driscoll." Please let me go and stop looking at my face. I really don't need anyone remembering my face being the last one to see Joe Driscoll alive. But, alas, the old, decrepit lady in front of me gets a confused and sad look on her face. I could snap her neck and bury her body right here and right now.

"But I don't understand. Can you fix my TV?" I think it's time grandma goes into a home. Well at least she is probably too senile to remember I came here.

"I'm sorry but you'll have to call your own repair man" I tell her in the tone I use for children. I turn to walk across, not letting her get another word in.

"Yoo-hoo! Cable repair man!" I hate her so fucking much right now. Alright! I'll go into her house, look at her TV for a couple of minutes, say I can't fix it, and leave. I turn around and go back to her. The sooner I do this, the sooner she gets out of my face, and hopefully gets my face out of her mind.

"Alright, I'll take a look at your TV" I tell her without even pausing to look at her. I walk across the street and into her house.

"Oh, you will? How did you know I needed my TV fixed?" Jesus fucking Christ. Screw putting granny in a home, it's time for euthanasia.

I step into her house. It smells like oatmeal and Vaseline. The walls are a faded yellow and the carpet is a soft gray that I suspect use to be white. To my left is a dining room with only one chair. I take note of that, it seems granny doesn't have much of a family. Good, no one to miss her if I do end up snapping her neck. "Cable repair man, my TV is this way" The old lady says, directing my attention to the right. The living room. She goes into it and I follow. Again, just one chair, no couch or love seat. Her life must be rather lonely. I think it'd be a punishment to let her live the rest of her life out. If I kill her now, it'd be a mercy killing, and I'm not a fan of mercy.

I bend down to get a look at her TV. I nod and make sounds of understanding as I look at it. Luckily, I don't think granny will be hard to fool. Which is good, since I have no idea what I'm doing. For all I know, her TV is fine. After a few minutes, I stand up. "Well, it looks like your antenna is broken. You'll have to buy a new one. Walmart sells them for about fifteen bucks." I make up complete lies. I need to get to Joe. It's time for father to meet his end.

"You can't fix my TV?" The lady asks. She gets that confused and sad look on her face that screams senility.

"I'm afraid not. But I have to go fix Mr. Driscoll's TV" I say and get the hell out of her house. She says something else to me, but I'm gone. I'm still carrying my box as I enter the house across the street as quietly as possible. Father is still sane and will realize that he didn't call a repair man. He has some bad enemies from past mistakes, so he is expecting assassination attempts. All the more reason to be careful. And there he sits, watching TV, bowling, his favorite hobby, and completely oblivious to me. I softly open my box and pull out the sedative. A little something to put him to sleep. Slowly, I creep up behind him, syringe at the ready. A man bowls a strike on the TV, and some part of me is happy that Joe's last image will be bowling. I ignore that small part of me that still feels uneasy about this when I jam the needle into his neck and push the plunger. Joe slumps down instantly.

Aside from Dexter, Joe is my only family left. That is why I'm actually feeling some small pang of remorse for killing him. Blood ties are important to me. But Dexter is my main focus. Our blood tie goes a lot farther than common DNA. Joe, on the other hand, shut me out. He saw who I was on the inside and turned. He's just the man who fucked my mom. That's all. I put the syringe back and pull out another. My posture relaxes, there is no one else to hide from. I fill the syringe with the diabetic insulin. It'll cause a heart attack and be untraceable. Unlike the other shot though, this one will leave a mark. Small and almost undetectable, but a mark none the less. So I bend down and inject this shot into his upper inner thigh. People don't like staring at a dead man's crotch, so this will be the most likely place that a freckle will be over-looked. Not that there will be much suspicion anyway. This is a small town, foul play rarely happens and is never expected.

I stand up and look at Joe for the last time. He wasn't a bad man. He was a good man who did bad things. I remember he tried to be a good father. Just, he wasn't. Remorse. I don't like that feeling. So I leave Joe before I can feel it any longer.

Joe loved Dexter. He always has. Dexter was always his favorite. I'm not spiteful of that fact, Dexter was always my favorite family member too. Ironically it seems he was the favorite Morgan family member too. Dexter will get most, if not all, of his stuff. And he'll probably sell and or throw away all of it too. Joe didn't live high on the hog, he mostly had crap. I think the only thing of slight value he had is his bowling ball collection.

I get back into my car and make the five hour drive back to Miami. I want to spend time with Dexter, and I don't know if it is Deb being afraid to admit she is dating me again, or if Dexter is being anti-social, but for whatever the reason, I haven't met Deb's 'brother' yet. My brother. I wonder if he'll recognize me. No, I'm pretty sure he's seen my face in a crowd before and didn't give a second glance.

At least he knows he is adopted. That piece of information wasn't hard to pry from Deb. I asked her if Dexter looks like Harry, and she explained that Dexter was adopted. I probed a little bit further, asking at what age, which I already knew, but then I ask if he remembers anything. It's a reasonable question, Dexter was only three, he could easily go either way. But Deb claims he remembers nothing. I don't want to believe her, but she is probably right.

That's okay. I'll just have to remind Dexter. I have enough blood to recreate our rebirth. I haven't placed any new bodies as of late. My next move will be the blood room. It'll be good, something to let Dexter know I haven't forgotten about him. Or what happened to him. To us. Because at this point he knows everything is just for him. He's seen how I give him pieces to the puzzle that I give no one else.

The drive home is long. I hope the morgue finds the link from Dexter Moser to Dexter Morgan I placed. I spent years hunting Dexter down. There is no way they'd be able to find Dexter to give him information of our father's untimely death. Because Harry purposely didn't leave a trail connecting the two. He never wanted Dexter Moser and Dexter Morgan to be linked. But now they are. I added records that should have been there in the first place. If they know where to look, it's not hard to find the name change. _If_ they know where to look.

They'll also try to find Brian Moser, just out of formality. All next of kin should be alerted of the death. It's customary. They won't find Brian Moser though. Unlike Dexter Moser and Dexter Morgan, there is no link between Brian Moser and Rudy Cooper. They'll give up and settle for just finding Dexter.

And then Deb will go with Dexter to help him deal with things, emotionally or just packing up the house. Doesn't matter, just so long as she goes with him, and brings me along. If she doesn't want to, I'll talk her into it. I can be very persuasive. I gag at the thought, but Deb tries to be a good sister. A fake sister. I'll talk about old wounds being reopened and Dexter being too shy to ask for help. That it's her duty as a sister to help him, even without him asking. Because it's my duty as a _real_ brother to get close to Dexter. And a few days together, helping him deal with his past, will be a great place to start.

Even though he won't feel anything for Joe's death. He doesn't know about Joe or that he was even alive. Apparently Harry lied there too. He told Dexter both his parents died in an accident. That he was an only child. Oh, the lies. But with this weekend I present Dexter with a chance to know his real life. Another motive behind this. The main motive even. To show Dexter that Harry lied. That he did have a family before the lies. He still does. And I'll be there to hold his hand as he realizes this. I want to see just how curious he is about his real family, his old life. The life before the lies.

It's dark as I get home. Now it's just a waiting game. Everything is in place. Now it's time to just let things unravel, to watch a plan go off perfectly. I stick close to Deb for the next few days. I ask carefully thought out questions that would alert me to Dexter's visit to Dade City, without alerting her that I already know Dexter is going to Dade City. What a delicate web I've woven.

The big day that signals the next step in my plan finally comes two days later. Deb and I had just fucked, or as she thinks of it, 'Made love', and she was asleep on my bed. I don't like it when she comes to my home, invades my private space, but it's a necessity. It'd look suspicious if I didn't invite my girlfriend over from time to time. But God, how I hate her. She is in my bed, in my home, where so many women just like her have perished. I can't help but fantasize. I walk quietly over to my desk. My killer instincts have turned on. I won't kill her, I'll just pretend. I'll fantasize about what it'd feel like. I will not kill Deb. I will not kill Deb. I will not kill Deb. Deb, the woman invading my space, calling me her mate, her lover, and stole my place as Dexter's sibling. I run my fingers along a pair of scissors, imagining. Plunging the scissors into her neck, her back, anywhere. The blood would flow freely onto my bed, but that's okay. Just this one time. To have her crying, bleeding, begging for her life and asking why I'm denying it to her. To take the blade and rake it across her perfect flesh, creating deep cuts. Having the blood pool out, escape along with her life. Slowly, painfully.

"Did I fall asleep?" Comes her muddled voice from the bed. I turn towards her and put my dark dreams out of mind. Not tonight. Not without Dexter.

"Sex like that takes a lot out of a person" I reply, and she smiles. God, I hate it when she smiles. Smiles at me as though she knows me, as though I truly so love her. I want her to cry, to scream, to _die_. But not now. I walk towards her and kneel down in front of the bed. I kiss her as lovingly as I can to a person who I hate. Time to check on Dexter. "So are we still seeing your brother for dinner on Friday night?" Not that I expect to. I keep making plans to see him, to finally meet him face-to-face, and they keep on falling through. There is no reason to suspect that to change.

"No. He has to go to Dade City", Finally. It begins.

"What's in Dade City?" A deceased biological parent, perhaps?

"I told you he's adopted, right?" No shit.

"Yeah" because I'm only suppose to know because she told. I'm only suppose to remember because it's part of her life.

"Well some dead guy from Dade fucking City thought he was Dexter's biological father, and left him a house" Clearly Deb doesn't believe that Harry could have lied. That's her problem, it's Dexter that I'm going to have to free from Harry's web.

"Really?" I fake surprise as best I can. Nope, course Harry is always right. Yep, perfect Harry, never lied or did anything wrong in his life. He would _never_ do something like, oh, I don't know, send a single mother to certain doom, throw one of her traumatized children into the loony bin, and take the other to proclaim him his own child while teaching him to be the perfect killing machine. Nope, never. "Hm. Well"

"It's a mistake" No, Deb, actually this whole thing is very far from a mistake. Contrived, a perfect plan, and you are just a pawn in this grand game. Still, I get into bed and she rests her head on my stomach. I begin to stroke her hair. Time to do my next act, to make sure my plan goes off without a hitch. Deb doesn't seem interested in joining Dexter. I'll have to fix that.

"Still, that has to open up some old wounds" I wonder if it has. If Dexter ever seriously thought about his biological family, or if he ever felt out of place in the Morgan family? "When are you leaving?" Because you will leave Deb. I'm not going to surrender any control on this one.

"Me? I'm staying in bed with you all weekend" Like hell you are.

"I thought you two were close" So be a good little fake sister and get your ass up to Dade fucking City.

"We are" Like hell. She would go running and screaming at the first glimpse of how Dexter spends his free time. "Dex just likes to deal with things on his own. He doesn't want my help" Well, she has that one right. But, Dex will want my help. He needs my help to become free. With me.

"Or, he doesn't know how to ask for it" And with that, the final nail is in. She doesn't say anything for a while. I got her. To Dade City we go.

"I guess I should call him and tell him to expect company" That might be a problem. This could turn into another meeting that Dexter shoots down.

"Don't. Surprise him, it'll be nice" It's the best I can come up with.

"Really?" She is skeptical if that is the best idea. Yes, Deb, really-really. I need this weekend to go off without a hitch.

"Really. If you tell him now, he'll probably over-think things. Just show up and show your support. I'll go with you too." She seems to buy it. And I will go with her. This whole plan is about getting closer to Dexter. It's not going to be our real Reunion, but it will be a reunion of sorts. He'll see my face, and I'll see his. We'll exchange names, fake names, but names none the less, and become friends. I know him. I'm like him. Sociopaths can't sympathize with normal people, but we can with each other. I know what he feels, even if it's not a lot. "Your brother is my brother" I whisper delicately. It's the truth. The literal truth, but Deb interprets it figuratively. As my request to be part of the family. I'm already part of his family. I'm his real family. Her brother, fake brother, is my real brother. I wonder how she would feel knowing that she is dating her brother's brother?

We leave mid-day, around noon, a few days later. We want to give Dexter and his girlfriend, Rita, so I'm told, a few hours head start to avoid awkwardness. We are just a few minutes away, and I'm excited again. I'm about to meet Dexter. My little brother. No more following around and stalking. Face-to-face. A precursor to our real Reunion. The sun is setting and gives everything a gray-blue hue. I pull in front of the house. The house I was at just a few days ago. My father's house. My brother's now, though he'll probably sell it. Brother. The thought still hasn't lost all of it's mysterious excitement. A brother. He just doesn't know it yet. I park the car and turn to Deb. "Ready?" I ask her, even though it's a question more to myself.

She smiles, happy that she is active in her brother's life, and that I am to. She wouldn't be happy to know just how active I am in his life though. "Yep" I smile back at her and get out of the car. I walk fast to the house. I can't help it. I want him, _need_ him, to see me, to know about me on some level. Deb is still getting out of the car when I ring the door bell. My stomach tingles violently, like when I first saw him for who he is. Now, he'll see me.

It's Dexter to open the door, and I'm glad. I'm actually happy, honest to God joy, when he looks me in the eyes. Acknowledges me. The wide smile already on my face grows, and I had no idea that smiling could feel so _good_. "Dexter" I say for both him and myself. Confusion is in his eyes. It's okay Dexter, soon you'll understand. "Hi" I finally say. Formalities of normal people can't be forgotten. I'll have to pretend in front of him for a little while longer.

"Hey" he replies, still clearly very confused. The response was automatic, years of training in how to be polite and casual. Nondescript. I just stare, and I know my mask is slipping, but my God, finally. We meet. Deb ends the what is most likely an awkward silence by bounding past me and into the house.

"Surprise" She says in a sing-song tone, though with creeping uncertainty in her decision. Dexter's confused stare shifts from me to Deb. She walks up to Dex laughing and hugs him. She pulls back and continues to explain. "I know you can't ask me for my help, but it's my duty to...Y'know..." She awkwardly trails off, but still sporting a huge grin. Oh, how I played her like a violin. "Help, while you deal with old wounds and, what, just..." she finally finishes, realizing that it doesn't sound as good out loud. "Whatever, I'm here". Persistent Deb doesn't think twice about her actions, just her words.

"So it appears" Dex comments, not exactly happy at this turn of events. I watch this awkward interaction. Don't worry Dex, soon it'll just be you and me, and there'll be no pretending, lies, or awkward interactions. Because we are the same.

"And this is Rudy" She introduces me. I'm still standing outside, in the dark. Dexter welcomes me inside his home, well, his new house, by extending his hand for a hand shake.

"Hey" He says to me again. I walk in, ignoring his hand and going in for a hug. I've waited too long for this to just accept a hand-shake. I tightly wrap my right hand around his shoulder. He tenses, but that's okay. Again, I'm straying from the textbook sociopath. Sociopaths don't like hugs, but I like this one. I like my brother. The way we use to hug as children. It still feels good.

"I've waited a long time to meet you" I tell him while still in the embrace. I tell him the truth, he just has no idea how true it is. I break my hold and pull back shortly after though. It's starting to look suspicious. I'm half-hoping he'll get my double entendre, but as I look at his face, there is no recognition. Of course, he'd have to be damn near psychic to get it. Besides, it's not time yet. This can't be rushed. I keep my hand on his shoulder and enjoy the moment of him seeing me for another second before I turn to Rita. After my warm embrace for Dexter, I have to do something for Rita as well, or some major red flags will be raised. "And you must be Rita", I say as I walk past Dexter and turn to the blonde in the background.

"Hi", she says in a kind, faked voice.

"Hey", I reply as I place a hand on her shoulder and kiss both her checks. She feels awkward, like Dexter, at my superfluous displays, but it can be written off as being overly excited to meet Deb's family. What little remains of it, that is.

Deb speaks to Dexter in the background. "He came here for me. For the both of us" She says with admiration. No, Deb, I came here mostly just for Dex. "Isn't he great?" She squeaks. Only when I want to be, Deb. Dexter just turns to me and smiles. He is suspicious of me. There is no need to worry Dex. Soon you'll know that. But he doesn't expect me to be the Ice Truck Killer. Just Deb's creepy boyfriend.

We explore the house, gauging how long it'll take to pack up. I didn't take a good look at the house the last time I was here, I was too busy killing my father, but it really is cluttered up with massive amounts of crap. "Lots of work to pack all this up", Deb says from the kitchen.

"Even with the four of us it'll take us the whole weekend", I agree while examining a bowling ball. Dad sure loved bowling. But that is beside the point. It will take the whole weekend, and that's fine with me. Plenty of bonding time with Dexter. The problem is cracking that shell of his, while pretending to be normal. Really, I don't need him to know exactly why I do what I do right now, I just need him to be able to look back on my actions today and know. To understand how much I care for him. Because I don't care for a lot of people, just him.

"The whole weekend?" Dexter doesn't seem too happy with that. I wish he understood that this is a good thing. But he doesn't, not yet.

"Where should I put our stuff?", I ask anyone who is listening. It seems no one is listening, because no one responds.

"It's too eerie, sleeping at a dead man's house", Dexter says. Now, why is he trying to get out of this? I know he has no issue with death. Quite the opposite. "I saw a Motel Six on the way in".

"We could stay here, save the money", Deb points out.

"It is late, and we would probably get more packing done if we stayed here", Rita throws her two cents in. I'm not sure why he has such an issue staying here, but I feel bad for him getting ganged up on.

"It's up to you Dex, just say the word", I take a neutral stance from my spot on the couch next to Deb. He pauses and looks down, realizing the battle is already lost.

"As long as you don't mind the sofa bed", and I don't. I smile and turn to Deb, and Rita goes off looking for sheets. Dexter wonders off into the bedroom as well, and we settle down for the night. Deb and I get the sofa bed, as previously said, and Dexter and Rita got the master bed.

I don't sleep well. I'm too excited about being this close to Dexter. A guest this time. Deb falls asleep quickly, leaving me with my thoughts. I drift in and out of sleep for hours, until I see the sun peeking through the window and decide it's time to get up. I shower and get dressed. I'm just pouring the freshly-made coffee into my cup when Dexter enters the room. "Coffee?", I offer, turning to look at him.

He looks at me with exasperation and mutters thanks. That...hurts. But it's okay. He just doesn't know who I am yet. To him, I'm just Deb's overly friendly boyfriend. You're the only person in the entire world I'll ever be overly friendly to, Dex. "I have to get to the morgue.", he says and he sits in a chair and ties his shoe laces. I remember when he was small and would try for ten minutes to tie his shoes before asking me to help. But those days are gone. It's the future I need to think about.

I sit down in the chair next to his. "Need company?", please say yes. I would like some family bonding time. Or any kind of bonding time.

He looks askance at me and plainly says "No", adding a "Thanks" a few moments later. Clearly I can't just walk up to him and ask to be friends, even as Deb's boyfriend. It's okay though, I'll find a way.

"It's private. I get it", but I can't keep the disappointment out of my voice. I've always known that standing over a corpse will be our best bonding time, but he doesn't seem interested in my company with this one. He finishes his shoes and looks at me. I'm just looking at him and smiling, and I know I'm being weird again. But knowing that hiding under my mask is optional with Dexter. He wouldn't turn me in. It takes away the life and death threat, it makes it hard to remain normal.

He looks like he wants to say something, a joke probably, but I'm guessing he can't think of anything because he just leaves the room. Is he always this cold to everyone? I try not to take it personal, I know I'm an intruder, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Dexter killed people. The way that he is cold and distant. It's suspicious. His mask is slipping too. Why?

But he leaves and soon Rita is up. Deb is still snoring from the couch. And she does snore, the dainty little thing. But I'm alone with Rita. This might be a good time to get more information. I hear about Dexter from only Deb right now, but a new perspective could be very useful. "Morning, Rita", I greet her.

"Good morning, Rudy" she softy replies back. She is always so soft spoken, gentle. A sharp contrast with murderous Dexter.

"So, is Dex always that cold, or is he just not a morning person?" Dexter is a morning person, I know because I've been following him for a while. But I'm not suppose to know.

"I'm sorry, he's just shy around people. Don't take it personally", she tells me. So that's a normal response? I've only seen him around established friends or in formal settings, so it's very possibly true.

"Good, I was afraid I had B.O. or something", I joke and she smiles a big fake smile then walks out of the room to the bathroom. I think Rita was abused. She has that meek feeling around her. That's probably why Dexter dates her. That's how the relationship works. How ingenious, Dexter. For a sociopath who is emotionally unavailable, date another person who is emotionally unavailable. They won't drive you insane and you still look like a normal guy. If only Deb was abused...

I intend to mess her up pretty badly emotionally, but I don't plan on letting her live to bear the scars. That's because I'm going to mess her up even worse physically. Dexter and I, that is. I'm tempted to let her live just to see what she would do. Both her lover and brother are heartless serial killers? That'd scar someone for life. She might even kill herself! That'd be so delectable. Pushing someone to their emotional breaking point, where you don't have to do the bloody job yourself.

Look, there she is now. Deb walks into the kitchen and kisses me good morning. "Morning, Deb" I greet her.

"Morning, sexy", she comes back at me. Her mind is never far from the gutter. "Where is Dex?" She asks, noticing his absence.

"Morgue, to clear things up", although I want to hint at Joe being Dexter's real father to Deb. Just to see what she would do. From what I've seen of Deb though, she'd get mad. She doesn't like it when someone questions Harry, or what he said happened. Like a devoutly religious man talking to an atheist, she just finds the very nature of the questions themselves offensive.

Rita comes back in, suggesting we eat breakfast and then start packing up the house. She offers to cook, and digs around the frig for whatever she finds and deems as breakfast-appropriate food. Eggs and bacon as it turns out to be. How traditional. We eat, I make small talk, and then we start packing up his stuff. Which is a lot of stuff for someone who lived alone and had no friends.

Dexter gets back around noon. Something happened. He seems more interested in who Joe was. He digs through paperwork, looking. Looking for proof that Joe was his father. He was certain that Joe wasn't his father when he first came here. As blind as Deb, he didn't dare question Harry. How did he get that sort of blind obedience? Did Harry beat his children? Then where does the love come from? I've seen children come into the institution later on in their lives. Teens, or soon to be at least, that blindly and faithfully followed their abusive parent. It comes from a combination of being beaten senseless, being told it's their fault, and then being forgiven by the parent who beat them. It's similar to Battered Woman Syndrome, only if you start beating them when they are young enough, you get a good brainwashing thing going.

Deb and Dexter are too sane for that though. The children that I saw were in the institute for good reason, but I'm sure that Dex and Deb received a blend of a loving father, and something else that was darker. A more mild brainwashing.

And Dexter is breaking free it seems. He knows that Joe was his real father, but he needs confirmation. He needs the proof of guilt that was driven into him as a necessity by Harry himself. It's evening, and Dexter is still looking through papers when we start questioning the life of Joe himself. I, of course, know nothing of this man nor his relations with Dexter. "Joe bought this house outright in 1976. Paid cash. No records before that" That's right Dexter, keep digging. Harry lied, and you need to see that.

"No records, no childhood photos..." I start, then pause to stuff a mouthful of Chinese food into my mouth. "The guy was sixty, but it's like his life started when he was thirty." I say, starting the brain storm for what Joe could have done in his youth. Have two children, perhaps?

"You know, you're right" Rita turns to Dexter, "He's right" Yep, definitely abused. She feels the need to justify anything she says.

"So what happened between years one and twenty-nine?", Deb pitches in. What a great question.

"Maybe he butchered his entire family", I jokingly add. Another hint for Dexter, even though I know he won't get it. Just wait, Dex. Just wait.

"Yeah, or he walked out on his two wives and a lot of bad debt", Deb gives another theory. "Guy was a loser after all. I mean who else owns this many bowling balls?", she says as she pulls another bowling ball out of his closet.

"What do you think, Dex?", I ask. 'What do you already know?', is the real question. He is too socially inept to give a joke response. It'll be real knowledge.

"I think Joe spent some time in prison. Probably mixed with some bad people. Maybe he had to hide from them.", oh, how little you know, but how much you are able to infer. Dexter is smart, I'm not sure where he is getting half of his dots, but he is connecting them like crazy.

"Well, whatever it was, drugs were involved. Narcotics Anonymous," Rita says holding up a silver ship, "Paul use to get these, except he never made it past the welcome chip", so I'm guessing this Paul guy was her abuser. The pieces about her are clicking together too.

"Looks like Joe was clean for...", Dexter says, walking over to the collection and counting the chips.

"Let me guess; thirty years", Deb pipes in.

"Well, Joe said no to the drugs, but not his rock and roll. Nothing in his collection post 1980. Gotta love a purest." He didn't say no to sex either, Dexter and me are living proof of that. I turn a song on and begin to dance. Deb joins in and soon so does Rita.

"Oh, good, dancing...", Dexter mumbles. Dancing is another social necessity that Dexter never learned. It's hard, I know, to dance. It's hard because when they normal people dance, they hear the music, feel the emotion from it, and let that emotion out via body movements. When you don't have emotions, it makes things kind of difficult. It's another thing I learned how to do with perfection in the institution. Dexter may have had a personal tutor, but there is no teacher better than life. It's okay though, he acts a lot better for his victims, and soon they will be the only people he will need to interact with.

Deb is jumping on the couch, I'm playing my air guitar, and rocking is hard might I add, when I start dancing with Rita. Gotta dance now Dex. I want to see him try. The inability to dance doesn't equal serial killer, but it is funny to watch. He'll understand later.

He makes a few awkward fist pumps before he leaves to continue packing. Everyone else soon follows suit, including myself. Well, not so much Deb, who basically only dances. That's okay though, all the more time with Dexter.

There is so much more I'm learning about Dexter from talking to him and watching him up close. Like just how socially awkward he is. Deb and Rita laugh and joke, even though they have little in common. I act like the goof ball that is Rudy, and Rudy is never suspected of killing anyone. But, Dexter, he just smiles and nods, and doesn't get any joke. He could be a serial killer. Normal people could see it. That one cop, Doakes I think, may be the only one that verbally makes his suspicions known, but I wouldn't be surprised if others suspected Dexter of having dark hobbies.

Dexter offers to do the dishes from out earlier meal, and runs away from this awkward situation. I go to the kitchen and stand in the doorway, watching him sigh over the sink. It happens again; emotions come to me. Anger at Rita and Deb for making Dexter feel uncomfortable, sorrow, _sympathy_ for Dexter's lack of social graces, and affection. The...happiness, and I don't even want to know why I'm even capable of that feeling, at the thought that soon we'll run away together, be free, and he won't have to do things like this anymore. If we are ever at a dinner party again, and we disapprove of our hosts, we'll snap their necks and cut them into pieces. It'll be their fault for inviting two serial killers to dinner, because by then everyone will know who and what we are. Our faces will be plastered on the news, and we'll go down in the history books as America's most lethal serial killers. Just taking a rough estimate of Dexter's, lets give him two-hundred kills, less than my minimum-kill count calculations showed, and I've probably killed somewhere between fifty and a hundred...Alright, closer to fifty. Two hundred and fifty kills, and we haven't even had our Reunion yet. It'll be great. We'll be great.

I swallow back my new emotions, a new skill I have to learn, and turn my attention to Dexter. Let's see just how aware of Joe's role in his existence he is. "Hiding out?", and you are Dexter. You don't have to lie to me. You just don't know that yet.

He turns to me, just now noticing me, after several months of stalking, and says, "Cleaning up". He returns to the dishes and I walk into the room.

"I can only imagine what you are going through", actually, I'm going through the same thing. A sociopath with a dead father who barely had any part in the parenting. Only difference is, I'm the one who killed him.

"Lots of Lemon Fresh Joy", he jokes, holding up a half-empty bottle of yellow dish soap. I decide to call him on it. He doesn't have to pretend with me. And he can't, I can see right through him, because I'm just like him.

"You joke. It's a good defense by the way", I end it with a wide grin. I like being with my brother, no matter how many lies are between us and bridges left to cross. He's still my brother.

"Thank you. I think", he doesn't know what to think about getting called on his social unease. Really, joking is the only trick he has. If he keeps things light and playful, he doesn't have to show complex emotions, or rather that he lacks them.

It's time to see just how brainwashed my little brother is. "Still, the possibility has got to be weighing on you.", and I know it is.

"What possibility?" Dear, darling Dexter, with all the social grace of a newborn giraffe.

"That Joe could actually be your dad?", and Dexter knows he is. I saw it the moment he got back from the morgue.

"The only way that is a possibility is if Harry was wrong. And that's just not possible.", Dexter finishes the blasphemous sentence. Yep, he is good and brainwashed. That's okay, I'll show him the way.

"Or he lied", I say softly, planting seeds of doubt. But Harry did lie. He lied about how his parents died. About his role in their death. About having a brother. Dexter doesn't say anything to that, just stares into the sink, thinking. Yes, he knows. He knows that Harry lied. He doesn't want to admit it, but he can't lie to himself. He struggles for words again before walking out of the kitchen altogether. Once again, I pierced his armor. I'm disturbed at how easily this can be done. By refusing to buy into his jokes, he is stripped of his mask.

We go to sleep again, and I'm really starting to miss my own bed. Still, after a full day of work, and a poor night's sleep before that, it isn't long before I'm dozing off, trying to ignore Deb's snoring.

The next morning is similar to the first, I'm up first, followed by Dexter, then Rita, and finally my girl Deb rolls out of bed. Rita offers to make breakfast, and no one complains at free food. Apparently Joe ran out of bacon and eggs, because today's menu consists of tuna sandwiches. Not that I'm complaining. "Well, I hope tuna's alright", Rita says as she hands me a plate with a tuna sandwich on it.

"I do love me a little mercury", I joke with her, even though she'll probably ignore me. Which she does. A phone rings, and Deb identifies it as Dexter's.

"He's out steeling garbage can space from the neighbors", Rita tells Deb as she goes to pick up his phone. I hate it when people do that, answer my cell phone without my consent. An invasion of privacy, and I should kill her for it. If I wasn't already plotting her murder for her taking my place by my brother's side, and for the Captain Hook joke, I'd kill her for that too. If only you could kill a person multiple times...

She talks on Dexter's phone, and it seems work-related. Until she says something that alerts me that it isn't. "What DNA test?", Deb says with confusion and anger in her voice. So, Dexter ran a DNA test? That's some pretty damning evidence. No possible way to deny that Harry lied with that. It's a pity Deb isn't taking it as well. She storms outside to give Dexter an ear-full, I must presume. I don't follow, I already know everything I need. Deb is mad, both her and Dex now know Joe was his real dad, and Dexter's image of perfect Harry is crumbling.

A few minutes later Deb comes storming back in and mutters, "I need to clear my head", before grabbing her purse and heading back outside. "Where are your car keys?", she asks me. I point her in the right direction and she goes to grab them. Dexter comes in and starts talking to Deb.

"Deb, I ordered the tox screen because Joe had no history of heart disease and the coroner's report was inept-", Wait, what? My mind freezes. Dexter is onto to me? How?

"You did it because for some reason he is important to you", Deb fires back. I'm vaguely aware that at any other time I would find this entertaining, watching Dexter break free of his shackles and review his past life while Deb remains locked up in the mental coop that Harry constructed. But not now, because Dexter is onto me. He suspects foul play in Joe's death. The man who can't tell sarcasm from seriousness half the time picked up immediately on foul play. Damn, no wonder everyone always says his instincts are dead on. They are.

But that is working against me now. If Dexter found out someone killed his dad, he'll investigate. He'll ask the neighbors if they saw anything. He'll question the crazed old lady from across the street. Fuck. Why is the universe conspiring against me? Why?

"It was professional curiosity", Dexter continues to try to justify himself. If he found out that I killed Joe, he'd know I was a killer. I'd have to tell him everything. That can't be how our Reunion will be.

"Well then, you'll be professionally glad to know the only toxin in his system was a sedative. Which he probably took to, I don't know, sleep?", Why, Deb, why? He could have walked away not knowing that vital piece of information. You may brush it off as sleeping pills, Deb, but Dexter is like a truth-seeking missile, he'll zoom in on that little fact and draw from it everything he needs to find out I killed Joe.

"That would surprise me", Rita broke in. "Joe is thirty years sober, and I haven't found anything stronger than Advil in the medicine cabinet." Why, Rita? You don't have to point out logical flaws in the sleeping pill theory! It was possible that Deb would preoccupy Dexter too much to let him question the sedative. But you just have to ruin everything, try to get me found out. Fuck you. Fuck you so hard up the ass, Rita. I hope you die.

Okay, deep breath. I'm losing control of my temper. It's not a good time to start yelling and hitting right now. Very suspicious. I'll just calmly make up an excuse that doesn't involve me killing Joe. "Wouldn't be the first time an addict fell off the wagon, Rita", is my illogical reply. If Joe fell off the wagon, we'd most likely find cocaine in him, not a sedative. Hell, I'm thrown off now. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Dexter and me killing Deb. Yes, that is a very happy thought. A blade into the heart, both our hands holding the handle, limbs removed, perhaps half of them we'll freeze, the other half will be left to Dexter's devices. Yes, it'll be a happy day.

I return to the present calmer. 'Happy Thoughts' was a technique taught to me in the institute. Not exactly how they intended it to go, but I find it useful from time to time.

"Or someone slipped him the sedative so he wouldn't struggle when he was injected with something else", Dexter says, looking me dead in the eyes. No. Fucking. Way.

"Like?", I question further. I _know_ this isn't happening. Dexter cannot be that good at piecing things together.

"Diabetic insulin. Can cause cardiac arrest. We've seen it before. It's nearly impossible to detect unless you can pinpoint the point of injection which I wasn't looking for, but if I had a chance to examine the body again-" God fucking damn the entire fucking world God damn, fuck, bitch! How the fucking hell can he do that? From a faulty coroner's report to a tox screen to knowing exactly how Joe died! What the fuck! Seriously!

"Jesus Christ! He is not even your family. Mom and dad were. I am!" Deb is on the verge of crying now. Like hell he is. The Morgan family is not the Moser family. You are _not_ his family. You can't just send a mother off to certain death, throw one child into an institution and claim the last one as your child. The world isn't like that. "You're going to start questioning me now?"

"You? Why would I?..." Dexter trails off, clearly not understanding the implications. Damn it! Take it easy on Dexter. He doesn't get it. In some ways Dexter is like a child, not understanding anything beyond a literal meaning. In other ways, he is a genius. Like being able to identity and sniff out murder within seconds. Still, I'm thankful for the shift in attention. Dexter will need evidence. He doesn't take anything on faith. He'll go back to Joe, he'll look for the injection point. And he'll find it, because he is one of the few people that doesn't mind being around a dead man's crotch. So, I'll just have to make sure Joe won't be there the next time Dexter pays him a visit. But not now, because Deb is yelling again.

"Joe Driscoll was obviously bad fucking news, which is why dad didn't want you to know anything about him. Doesn't that matter to you?" Deb is red-faced now. She doesn't understand either. Dexter doesn't do self-delusions. He doesn't want to trade the truth for the happy fuzzy pink lie that Harry was a perfect father and cop. Dexter wants the truth, and I think he should have the truth. The truth that Harry is responsible for his mother's death. That he has a brother.

Dexter opens his mouth to say something, having lost all control and understanding of the situation. He struggles for words again, until finally he settles for the truth. "I don't know what you want from me..."

A silence stretches on, and this family feud is coming to an end. Good, I think I need to give a call to the morgue and tell them to send Joe to get cremated today. Small towns don't have very many deaths; I could probably have Joe in a little cardboard box by tonight. Deb finally speaks, and my attention returns to the present. "I want what dad wanted. I want nothing to do with this guy. So let's just finish packing up this crappy house and walk the fuck away."

"Alright, that sounds like a good plan. Okay." Dexter agrees and nods. At least he knows when to stand down. Rita leaves the room, Dexter sits and looks down, and the action is over. Please, Deb, want some time alone. I don't need to spend five hours consoling you. Luckily, it seems Deb does need some alone time, because she takes my keys and goes out for a drive.

I walk into the back yard, turn to make sure no one is around, and go for my cell phone. If Dexter finds hard evidence of murder, he won't walk away. He'll dig around for whoever killed Joe, once it becomes a matter of 'Who?' and not 'If?'. He'll ask the neighbors, and that includes the old lady from hell, who will spill the beans on a cable repair man. She'll describe me. I look average, normal, people find it hard to use descriptive terms for me. But Dexter, with what I've seen so far, he'll take the description, 'Average looking middle-aged white guy' and turn that into me.

Even now I still need to be careful. If she sees me, she'll recognize me as a cable repair man. That'll be hard to explain. And once again, Dexter will zoom in on that and draw another set of conclusions, one of them being that I killed Joe. And God knows what he'll conclude from there. So, I just can't let him proceed in his investigation. I pull out my cell phone and call the morgue. I say that I'm helping Dexter, Joe's son, pack things up. That we have to get back to Miami soon, and if he could put a rush on the cremation? Small towns, how gullible they are. Joe is being sent to the crematory now. Victory tastes good.

Now that Joe is dealt with, there is the matter of the old lady. I consider killing her, that'll stop her from talking. But I'm not prepared, and I don't want to risk sneaking around. No, it'll just be easier and safer to hide my face from her.

The day goes by fairly quickly. Deb and Dexter ignore each other, and the silence is tense. I wonder vaguely if me and Dex will fight like that. But I can't bring myself to imagine it. What would we fight about? We are the same, there is nothing to argue over.

Dexter will leave at night. He doesn't want Deb to find out he is still investigating Joe's death, but he won't quit. It's okay though, Joe should be cremated by then. The doctor swore he would be, and nothing beats small town honesty.

We retire to bed yet again, and for the final time. I don't sleep though, I just wait. I know Dexter will leave, there is no way he won't.

A dark shadow passes towards the door and I shiver at his grace. I let him slip out and wait. There is no point following right behind, it'd just raise my chances of getting caught. Besides, I already know where he will be heading.

I don't have to follow him, I know, but I want to be part of the hunt. Alright, so we won't be killing anyone tonight, but I will see Dexter's darker side, and I'll show him I'm not afraid of it. I don't need to let him know everything yet, but that he can come to me. That I won't judge him, or tell on him, that I'll even help him. Because I don't mind doing things under the table either.

He's walking there, I can tell by the lack of a running engine. Careful as always. I slowly extricate myself from the snoring mass of limbs that is my girlfriend, and follow Dexter outside. He's probably there by now, it's not that far away. I'm not as careful as Dexter, and I prove that when I stick my key in my car's ignition and drive off. I don't really care if I wake anyone up. What's so bad about taking a night-time drive when you can't sleep?

I'm driving towards the morgue when I see Dexter running _away_ from the morgue. He was seen. I speed up and break right beside him, opening the car door. A get away driver isn't the worst proposition . It's a vital role, and I'm still helping Dexter. Showing him who I am in exchange for seeing who he is. "Get in", I command when he doesn't seem to take any interest in my car. He stops, hesitant until he sees me face. A friend, he recognizes. A great start, but I want to get that to 'Brother' status.

He gets in and I begin to drive back to the house. He looks back to make sure he wasn't followed. "Heard you sneak out" I start. "Took a guess where you were heading."

"Figured I could need a ride?", he is suspicious of me. It is suspicious. I need to seem like a good boy.

"Figured I could talk you out of it", because I'm a good boy. I'm just Rudy, innocent as can be. "No such luck, huh?"

"Deb will be delighted", does he think I'll turn him in? Good, he needs to learn that I wouldn't do that. I'm an ally.

"Far as I know, you went out for a walk." He looks at me, still suspicious. I look back at him briefly to show my honesty. And I have to do a double-take, because, there, at his feet, is a little cardboard box with our father's name on it. "Jesus, Dex, did you steal something?" He follows my eyes and sees the box.

"My finger prints were all over it. I figured it'd be prudent to get rid of the evidence. It's just a box of ashes."

"Joe was cremated then?" And I'm free of that snare.

"Yeah", he mutters and looks out the window. I'm sorry you had to lose this one Dex, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

"So, you weren't able to find out if he was injected with anything?"

"No." It makes me sad to see him so defeated, but one of us would have lost, and my stakes are much bigger. Still, I hope this is the last time we play against each other, and not with each other.

"So what are you going to do with him?" He can't bring Joe back to the house. Pretty incriminating evidence that he was doing more than just walking.

"I don't know...Dumpster?" That idea doesn't sit well with me. Sure, I have very little in common with him, just DNA, and he did basically renounce me as a son, but still, he was my father. And he was Dexter's father too. Blood ties do mean a lot to me. Dexter needs to embrace them too.

"I have a better idea", Dexter just looks at me. He has a look of a hunter, a killer. He was on the prowl just minutes ago, and he hasn't calmed down yet. The wild and dark look in his eyes would probably scare most. But I love it.

He remains silent though, so I drive to the bowling ally. Joe loved to bowl, and this seems like a good place to scatter his ashes. The best funeral we will be able to do in the middle of the night. Dexter seems to understand. I park in front of the building, and we both step out. Dexter is carrying Joe and places him on the hood of my car. Dexter stares at the box. He knows that is his real father. He is curious, intrigued at the idea of a real family, the one he was torn from years ago. There isn't much of a family left, but I'm still here. Let's see just how much he wants to know about his past.

"You know..." I sit down on the other side of my hood and look up at him. "No matter what Harry said, no matter what Deb thinks, that's your father", and I'm your brother. Now, embrace the idea of a life outside the one Harry built you into. A family that you belong to.

"A cardboard box", clearly Dexter isn't picking up on the importance of this. That's okay, as sociopaths, we don't feel much remorse for the dead. I'll admit it too, Joe isn't really here, he's gone. Yes, I killed him, but that is beside the point. Ashes are ashes no matter what burned. But these ashes are a symbol, and I've always liked symbolism. They are a symbol of who you really are Dex, a Moser.

"I know you don't want to acknowledge it, which is why you're running around, breaking and entering, searching for some killer," Because there is no way there is a killer. Dexter has some shifty eyes though, and that tells me he she doesn't believe Joe's death was an accident. "But you took that", I point to the box, "Because there is a part of you that knows that this," I gesture towards the ashes again, "Box is your real father", I finish. Not your fake father, not the one who fed you lies every day of your life, a real father.

He seems to understand now. He embraces Joe as who he was, his father. He carefully removes the lid and picks up the bag of remains. "My father..." Yes, Dexter, your father. Your dad. Just wait until you remember you have a brother. A real, living brother. And I'm not going anywhere. He looks at me and I look at him, and for a brief moment, both of our masks drop. He doesn't joke, or smile, or try to pretend, and neither do I. We look into each other's cold, empty eyes.

And then the moment is gone. "Sounds strange", he says as he looks down at the bag in his hands. Yes, Dexter, I know this is new, foreign, but Joe was your father, I'm your brother, and you're living a lie.

"I know", I don't think much of Joe as our father either. Dexter doesn't remember him, but I do. I remember being young, I must have been three because Dexter wasn't even one yet, and spending the day with Joe. The day started out well enough. He made us pancakes, and I would tear off a piece and give it to Dexter. Then we went to see a movie, but the loud sounds made Dexter cry, and they made us leave because of that. Joe got mad at Dexter for ruining his day with his children and started to get rough with Dexter. Dexter only cried more, and I told Joe to stop. Joe stopped hurting Dexter, but started drinking. He took us around town, and the day got worse and worse, until it was one A.M. and we were in a strip club. Dad was doing lines of cocaine off a strippers belly when someone finally called the police. Our mother didn't let Joe see us very often after that.

But that is in the past now. No point in remembering the sins of a dead man. I try to remember the good times. Like when he made us pancakes, before he beat Dexter. Good fun there.

Dexter walks out onto the grass in front of the bowling ally, and I follow him. He turns the bag upside-down and the ashes pour out. Dexter kneels down and spreads them. We don't say anything else after that. He has a lot to think about. He's learning that Harry isn't everything. Harry was just a man. It's up to Dexter if he wants to base his entire life around him. Which he won't. It's your life, Dex, not his. You're free to kill who you want, when you want, and how you want.

We drive back in silence and return to the house. I'm slightly worried that Deb will question where Dex and I went running off to in the middle of the night, but she just tells me my feet are cold and falls back asleep. Of course, with Deb, sleep takes priority over everything else.

This weekend was a success. I finally met Dexter, and we bonded as best two sociopaths pretending not to be sociopaths could bond, and I didn't get caught. I couldn't convince Dex that no one killed Joe, but he seems to be willing to let it go and continue on with his life. He never got to reexamine the body, and we're leaving first thing tomorrow morning. All I have to do is walk out of the house and into the car without the old lady determined to ruin my life seeing me.

It's morning and we are about to leave. Dexter has called a realtor, she is putting the house up for sale. Now I just need to walk fifteen feet from the house to my car. Old lady is no where in sight. Very good. I'm standing on the lawn while Dexter finishes up with the realtor. He walks to towards his car, but I feel a need for a farewell.

"I know I should be sorry that we met under these circumstances, but truthfully, I think it was the best way to get to know you.", and it was. I shake his hand and look into his eyes, trying once again to communicate to him that I am someone to be trusted. A friend, for now at least. Soon, he'll learn I'm so much more. He looks like he is about to say something, but Deb walks up and ruins our moment.

"Realtor says you won't get much for it", I think she is still mad at him, but is starting to let it go.

"Well, more than if I kept it", he says, looking back at the new 'For Sale' sign that graces the lawn.

"Are we good?", Deb asks.

She walks up and hugs him. "We're fine", Dexter whispers into the embrace. I hate her. She is not Dexter's sister. She shouldn't be hugging him. She shouldn't have to make up to him, or to love him like family. He's my family. Joe's family. A Moser, not a Morgan.

The hug ends, and life continues. "Alright. I'll see you back at the station", Deb says before leaving for my car. I follow, and the urge to kill Deb yet again comes to me. Another five hours trapped in a car with her. Great.

I open the door for Deb and look up. Dear God no...

The old lady is getting the mail. Fuck.

She immediately zooms in on me. No, no, no, no. I was free! Five feet from the car and freedom! I hurry around the car as she says, "Cable repair man". Jesus Christ. Why has senility not wiped her memory clean of me? "Wait! Wait! No, no, don't go" I get in my car and close the door. Fuck. Her. "Wait! Please, I want to ask you something" Thank God no one is paying attention. Dexter is talking to Rita, Deb is on her phone. I might just get away with this. I drive off and she continues to yell. Dexter's car soon follows. He never stopped to listen to the old lady's yells.

I kill her the next day. The bitch.


	10. Seeing Red

October third, 1973. The magic date. Dexter claims to remember nothing from before Harry, and I believe him. He knows nothing. That needs to be fixed. I've collected a total of five people's blood. That's a lot of blood, in case you don't know. Counting our mother, Dexter and I wallowed in only four people's blood on October third, 1973, but I want him to remember, so I'll exaggerate. The big day has come. I've been planning this since before I even knew that Dexter was like me. A room, just for the sake of reminding Dexter. Reminding him of what happened to us, why we are the way we are.

I'm humming again. I'm just that excited about this. Dexter will love this, I know. He's the blood guy. He really must love blood if he dedicated his entire life to it. I'm sure mother has something to do with that. The chainsaw roars and a pit forms in my stomach. Blood splatters across the walls and even onto the ceiling. It's all so familiar. I remember the day mother died perfectly. I wonder how much Dexter will remember? I readjust my sun glasses. I usually don't wear them, but I usually don't paint an entire hotel room red with blood either.

I gently pour more blood onto the chainsaw. It flies across the room. Oh yes, Dexter will love this. He's the blood guy. Blood is everywhere. I'm sure it'll cause something to come back. Maybe just a vague feeling. Just enough to spark that curiosity again. That sense of needing to know about the past that came when he found out Joe was his real father. It'll come again, and I'll leave a hint, just for him. It can't be much, I can't tip off the rest of the force. That'll link Dexter to the Ice Truck Killer. And that wouldn't be good. 103. I look around the hotel room, now covered in blood, and go for the radio. I turn it to station 103. I go to the Bible that every room has. I open it to a random page. Leviticus 20:13. I flip it back a few pages to Leviticus 10:3. The police will probably search this entire page for my message. The Bible can be read in so many ways...

But 103 is the message. The police might catch on, but only Dexter will know where to look. October third. 10/3. It'll take him a while, but he'll find it. The one news article that even took note of a brutal murder of a mother in front of her young children. The children part is suspiciously omitted however. Harry's work, I have to gather.

With that, I unplug the chain saw and leave the Marina View Hotel, room 103. Oh yes, Dexter will love this. It won't be long before police come. I sent a jar full of blood with the key inside it to homicide. They are incompetent, but they'll get the message. I'm tempted to stay and watch things unfold, but I know better than that. Deb and Dexter would recognize me. I'd be singled out and questioned. I'll just wait for Deb to come back and tell me how it went. A room full of blood is something note worthy enough to be mentioned.

So, I go to work, rebuilding people. Giving them new limbs, waiting for night to remove limbs.

Deb calls me and tells me a big case just came up and she'll be working late. I tell her that I'll see her as soon as she gets home, because I want to hear about it. About that big case. I omit that I want to hear how Dexter reacted.

Deb gets home around ten, and I ask her about this 'Big case'. Like I don't already know. We are both in her room, and she is undressing while I'm on the bed. "You won't believe what came up today. A hotel room, filled to the fucking roof with nothing but blood!"

"Damn. Just blood? What happened to the bodies?", I act surprised, looking into a newly-emptied wine glass. I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed as she changes clothes.

"I don't know. I don't want to know.", she says as she grabs a condom. I wonder what she has in plan for my immediate future? I am once again the human dildo. "It was bad enough"

"You seem so amped. You brother must have loved it", he is the blood guy after all. I tried to give him all sorts of different patterns. I'm a doctor, I typically focus on the guy bleeding rather than just the spot he bleed on, but I still know a thing or two about blood spray.

"Fuck no. He freaked" What? Why wouldn't Dexter like it? I know he couldn't have gotten grossed out.

"Really?" Was it suppressed memories coming back to him? It had to be. I just didn't think he'd get more than a vague familiarity. "I thought, you know, blood was his thing?" She starts to crawl on me, but I can't keep my mind off Dexter. "What happened?", I hope he is okay. I want him to remember, but I don't want to hurt him in the process.

"I don't know. It was like usual. He shut me out". Well, of course he shut you out. He can't tell you what he remembers. He can come to me, though.

Still, I'm frustrated at how little information I'm getting. 'He freaked' isn't a lot to go on. "Did he say anything?" I need to know what is going on.

Deb isn't compliant though. She bends down and says, "Lets not talk about Dex right now" Hell no. I need to know, relationships be damned. She starts to kiss me, but I don't get into it. I'm the human dildo no longer.

I break the kiss. "Was it like a panic attack?" She looks at me, surprised we are still on this. I'm not letting this go, Deb. I need to know if my brother is okay. Fuck you and anyone else who stands in my way.

"I don't know, he's not really into sharing his feelings, in case you hadn't noticed." And she goes back to kissing me. I'm barely kissing back, but she continues, none the less. She trails her hand down my body until she slips into my pants. She is surprised and breaks the kiss. "What's the matter, you don't even have wood" and she looks at me seriously for the first time all night. I think a fight with the sister will make a good excuse to see Dexter.

"Well, you're the one who said you wanted to talk" Far from what a perfect boyfriend would say. But I'm not a perfect boyfriend right now.

"Yeah, but not now. I'm horny" and as graceful as ever.

"Maybe I should call him," It's a serious thought, but I decide against it. He probably wouldn't be talkative over the phone. I'll have to see him in person to get him to open up to me.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Deb is getting angry, something I've tried hard to avoid, but our relationship can take it. And if I move a step away from Deb to get a step closer to Dexter, isn't that the point of this whole thing?

"What? We bonded last weekend. Isn't that what boyfriends are suppose to do, show some interest in the family?" and we did bond. Kind of. But Dexter knows me, and I like to think I'm at least close to friend status, and not just Deb's creepy boyfriend.

"Yeah, but not when his girlfriend is trying to get in his pants" Deb does have a point, but I think she'd be even more mad if I did get wood while thinking about Dexter.

"Deb, that's not fair. You take me out on a couple's weekend to get to know your brother then punish me for giving a damn" and I do give a damn. I need to make sure my little brother is alright. "I mean, your issues don't have to be mine", only this one is. Because this issue is more mine than hers. But I need her to get mad right now.

"You know what? Forget it, let's just go to sleep" and she crawls off of me and into the covers beside me. She'll forgive me by the morning for this. Damn. I need her to get more angry, a real fight as a real excuse to visit Dexter. Relationship help is a petty guise, but I'm sure he'll buy it.

"Okay, I'm going to go watch TV", I say as she turns off the light. I don't look back to see how mad she is. Mad enough, I'm sure. Mad enough to give me a reason to pick up some steaks and beers, pop by Dexter's house, ask for relationship help, and question him about his reaction to my surprise for him.

Why the bad reaction? Suppressed memories coming back, I'm sure. It's the only option. Dexter doesn't get grossed out by blood. The thought is laughable even. I stare at the TV screen and laugh at the thought. Dexter gets squeamish.

But he did. How much did he remember? Will he recognize me now? Does he remember he has a brother? Or does he only remember the blood? I feel sorry, something that I only feel for Dexter. I'm sorry, Dex, I didn't mean to force you to remember too much. I just wanted to bait you and leave a hint so you'll know it when you find it. Well, I'm sure he'll go looking now. I'm sure that he'll find the newspaper article about a woman that got cut up, dated 10/3/1973. From there, he'll have a name, then an address, then a brother.

It's an odd thought. Our game is coming to a close. Soon will be our Reunion. And then brotherhood. I'm getting a clearer plan of how to do things. I bought our old house years ago, even before I knew Dexter's face or new name. I always wanted our Reunion to take place there. I'm glad I bought it, because the Reunion has become a lot more important since. Life changing. The hotel room most likely jogged his memories of mother's death, the death of our childhood, and the end of our old lives. I want him to remember who I was. At best, he probably just remembers a dark-haired boy being left behind in the blood. He doesn't remember me. His brother. I'm hopeful the house will fully jog his memory. Show him what his life was like before. I even bought the house with my real name. Brian Moser.

Brian has been inactive for a long time, and he won't be inspected anytime soon. This is good, if things blow up in my face, and Rudy Cooper is linked to the Ice Truck Killer sooner than I expect, then at least they can't trace me back to the house. They could link Brian Moser to the Ice Truck Killer if they ran my partial print against mental institution records, but they didn't and the lead has been dropped. Another fun fact about the Ice Truck Killer case I learned from Deb. She really didn't get the memo telling her to keep some aspects of the case confidential. So the house is safe, they won't be able to track it down and identify it.

Dexter will track the house down though. I allowed him that, and only him. But before Dexter can track down the house, he'll have to find out Laura Moser was his mother. He should be able to do that without any more help. He has all he needs. A number and curiosity. Not a lot, but I still remember last weekend. The way he snapped pieces together, figuring out exactly what happened with so little to go on. This shouldn't be too much of a hurdle.

Then there is the matter of telling him to go to her old house. When the time comes for our Reunion, that is. "Born Free" by Andy Williams will be my clue. I'll give it to the cops, but I doubt they'll pick up on it. Dexter is smarter than that though. He'll know that I'll leave a hint, and he'll look for it. What the cops will see is the nonsensical pattern of a deranged man, Dexter will see a code, a trail of bread crumbs laid out just for him. And he'll know to keep it to himself.

I have no intention of staying here. Rudy Cooper can be found as the Ice Truck Killer, I don't care. They won't find Brian Moser though. Brian and Dexter Moser will wander the country, killing as they will. Deb will go out for dinner with me, and never come back. They'll search my home, since I was the last known person with a missing cop, and they'll find everything. Rudy Cooper will be marked as the Ice Truck Killer. I'll leave the clues for Dexter, and only he will get them. He'll follow the trail back to 1235 Mangrove Drive, our childhood home. There he will remember it all, and embrace me as his true family. Then, we'll kill Deb. Together.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I have to give Dexter time to recover from his...episode at the hotel room. That's right. Our Reunion is still in the future, and right now I need to check up on Dexter. Not tonight though. It's almost eleven.

It's time for sleep. The sooner I sleep, the sooner the next day comes. And tomorrow I'll pay Dexter a visit. I crawl into bed along side Deb without any shame, just to make sure she is good and pissed. I've been thinking about the best way to crush her. She cares about me, and I intend to use that.

The next day comes and I spend most of it in my office. It's a slow day, not too many dismemberments in Miami as of late. I'm holding an arm, examining it, admiring it. I run my finger across its smooth plastic. It looks so real, yet it's not. Almost though. Almost a piece of a human. Like me, almost human.

The day finally ends at eight. I had to work late again. Deb doesn't call to ask me to come over. Good, she is still mad. A quick stop by Safeway to get some steaks and beers. Good steaks too. I never go cheap when it comes to Dexter.

Knock-knock-knock. I'm at Dexter's home, knocking on his door. My stomach tingles. I know nothing will happen tonight, but it's still time with Dexter. Bonding time. He opens the door and looks confused. "Hey", I greet him with a smile.

"Hey", he says back after a few moments. Uncertain as always.

"Deb's pissed at me. I need advice", I give my excuse. Deb really is pissed, but I don't really need advice.

"So you came here?" Crap, he isn't buying it. I'll just have to try a little bit harder.

"You know her better than anyone", a normal thing to say. It's true. Or it'd be true if Dexter was normal, if he was able to understand why she feels the way she feels. But I don't know that he doesn't feel. He nods slightly, agreeing that, in theory, he knows her better than anyone. But he still won't let me in. "Come on, I got two porterhouses and a sixer of microbrew" No expense is spared for my little brother. Bribery apparently does work with Dex, because he steps aside and lets me in. "Nice place" I comment. And it is a nice place, as it was the last three times I broke in.

"Thanks" He mutters, still untrusting. Something Harry taught most likely. To never let his guard down. It's good advice, but this is one time when he needs to let down his guard. I don't expect him to do it now, of course. No, I'll have to do a little bit more work to get his trust. It'll be well worth it though. Silence sets in. I watch him, because it's become second nature to watch Dexter. It's just what I do. He watches me, because I'm an intruder. And so we just watch each other.

I can't act normal around him. I've come to admit this. I know how to act normal when all I really want to do is cut up a person into pieces. But acting normal when I want to go up, hug a person, and tell them they're my brother? That's a new skill I have yet to master. It doesn't matter, Dexter will know the truth soon enough, and then there'll be no point in pretending.

"So...Deb's mad?" he starts. Good, conversation. A normal conversation for normal people.

"Yeah", I hand him a beer and go into the kitchen to start cooking. "I think. I messed things up."

"How so?" He asks from his spot on a stool. I take the steaks out and place them on a cutting board.

"Well, one minute we are talking about her day, you know, the whole blood bath thing", I watch his expression briefly as I mention the hotel room.

"Right", he says rather passively. Clearly he's over whatever panic attack hit him. I still want to know more though.

"And the next moment she wants to jump my bones", I finish the short story while digging around his kitchen for a meat knife. "I mean, Deb's hot and all, but sprinkle in a little conversation every once in a while" I continue to look for that knife. I'm amazed at how organized he is though. Pots lined up according to size and type. You'd think Dexter is a chef the way he keeps his kitchen. Maybe my mad sense of organization comes from genetics.

"She's my sister, I don't know", and he seems genuinely disgusted at that thought. I continue to examine his kitchen, moving up to the cupboards. I've stopped looking for the knife, now I'm just gawking at how orderly he is. Defiantly my brother. "Can I help you find something?" Clearly he doesn't like my snooping. Another thing we have in common. I almost snapped Deb's neck the last time she rummaged through my frig.

"You wouldn't happen to have a good meat knife?" It was what I started looking for, so I'm really just getting back to that. He gets up from his seat and opens a drawer, revealing a row of sharp steak knives glimmering in the artificial light. Arranged according to size, of course. He picks one up with such grace and I'm in awe. I've never seen him use a knife up close, but I can see it. The way he would gently flick his wrist, wasting no effort in cutting a man open.

But today, there is no blood, no screams, and no deaths. He just hands me the knife and I say thanks. Today, the only flesh this knife will cut is a dead cow. I begin trimming the fat off of the steaks and continue on with my story. "Anyway, the other half of the argument was about you", I tell him as he takes a drink of beer.

"Me?", he seems confused. As usual for people like us, he only takes true interest when it comes to himself. This will change though. Soon, I'll enter his dichotomous world like he has entered mine.

"Yeah, it was already tense enough, but when I brought your name into it, she lost it." She was angry at Dex, too. For shutting her out, I presume. Dexter doesn't seem offended by the idea though. He just grunts and nods, as though it's the norm. It probably is. "So, what do I do?", it'd look odd if I didn't actually get any advice from him.

"Tell her it's all your fault", duh. You can't get a person to forgive you for anything if you continually blame them for whatever. Despite Dexter's social gracelessness, he has learned that lesson. Probably the hard way.

"Seriously?", I know Dexter can't help me with any social issue I run into, but I don't want to offend. I've had a better mentor at pretending to be normal, that's all it boils down to. He had Harry, who already knew his secret. I had my therapist, Williams, who again already knew my secret. The difference came in when I had to convince Williams I was normal. Dexter just had to show Harry he could act normal.

"You will eventually. Deb has a way of wearing you down. Just start from there, it's easier", another lesson most likely learned the hard way.

My phone goes off though. It's Deb. She better not have called to apologize. There is no way in hell I'm going to ditch Dexter in favor of Deb. "I have to take this", I tell Dexter. "Do you mind if I?...", I motion towards the front door. I can't have Dexter know that it's Deb. I came here for help, so if a solution presents itself, I'd lose my reason to stay. I'd have to go and leave for Deb. Dexter opens the door to the outside, giving me a place to go for privacy.

I walk out and answer as soon as Dexter closes the door. "Hey, where are you?"

"Still at work", and she doesn't sound mad. Fuck. "Chasing a lead"

"Let me guess, the blood bath case?" I wonder what kind of lead they could have? Not much of one, I'm too careful.

"Can we not talk about work right now?" If Deb thinks we are going to see each other now, she's dead wrong. "Baby, I'm so sorry", Please don't Deb. I don't need to fix another plan that you mess up. "You were totally right. I was mad at Dexter, and I took it out on you. My shift's almost done if you want to come over ant talk" Sorry, Deb, but no can do. I'm sick of her always messing things up. I just want to tell her to fuck off, I'm with Dexter.

What the hell? Why not? Just to see how it feels. This game is ending anyway. "I'd love to babe, but I'm about to eat dinner with Dexter", I try to keep the smugness at the fact that I'm talking to Dexter, and she isn't, out of my voice. I'm the person he'll go to, she isn't. I understand him, she doesn't.

A silence as she processes this. Her voice is tense when she finally replies. "Well, after." I know I should stop, that I need to be a good boyfriend for just a little bit longer, but I can't. I can't stop myself. I need her to suffer now.

"Yeah, but here's the thing. I think I'm going to sleep at my place tonight." Another tense silence as I come up with an excuse. "I mean, it's closer, and I'm drinking...You understand, right?" I say the last bit as cheery as I can. I know, I'm rubbing salt in the wounds. I'm getting too close to ending the relationship. But I just can't bring myself to care. I wonder if she'll start to cry? God, I hope so.

The silence is tense and she is pissed yet again. "Yeah", and my God, she sounds so hurt. And it's delicious. Not crying, but close. I cut her deep. It's not as good as killing her will be, but this is still pretty good.

"I'll call you tomorrow", I tell her. I hang up before she can reply. That was good. Mental pain is almost as good as physical pain. I return back inside and continue to cook the steaks. I start another conversation about anything that will hold his attention, even just vaguely. It goes from weather, to sports, to hunting, but he doesn't seem interested in any of that. I end up being the one who mostly talks. He stays quiet, and that's okay.

It's a pathetic cliché, but I leave my cell phone in the kitchen. It'll give me an excuse to see him again. Besides, it's not the worst thing I've done to see him.

He shows me out of his home, into the cool night. I can't leave quite yet. I still need to ask him about the hotel room. The blood bath, and his panic attack. I need to know what he remembers.

"Well, thanks for the hospitality" I say as I exit his apartment.

"Hey, thanks for the steaks", and he smiles at me. I'd like to think that is a real smile, but I know it's not. It doesn't matter. Even if it is a fake smile, it's still progress. At least he's hiding his suspicion.

"Yeah, I didn't get a chance to ask. Deb mentioned you had a little...incident at the crime scene", His smile leaves and his guard goes back up. This could be seen as another good thing. He knows he can't fool me.

"Did she?" He doesn't want to talk about it, it's clear from the way he looks down.

"Most of my prosthetic clients are pretty traumatized by the time they get to me...Anyway, I'm a good listener, if you ever want to talk.", I'm not particularly expecting to get much from him, but I need him to know I'm at least there for him. I still feel bad about forcing too much on him with the hotel room.

"Thanks, but unless you know an expert on suppressed memories..." Wow, I wasn't expecting that much. I can work with that. He didn't exactly fling open the door, but he did just crack it open.

"For real?", I'll have to tell a lie about my suppressed memories. I don't have any, I remember them all clearly. But it'll help get me in, and I don't think Dexter will mind this little white lie.

His eyes come up to me and he's interested. "You know something about it?" God, I haven't seen him look at me like that since we were children. It feels good, familiar.

"More than I ever wanted to." Sorry for the false act Dex, but it'll help bring us closer, and soon you'll understand the importance of that. I turn and look towards the ocean. He's still looking at me with interest, and something else. Respect, I finally identify it. And it feels good. "When I was in high school, I started having these dreams of a woman hit by a truck", I decide to keep my sob story the same as the one I always tell. Just in case Dexter asks Deb about it. Dexter leans against the railing next to me.

"Who was she?", a curious voice. Curious. Good, his curiosity about my past only reflects the curiosity of his own. And that is what he needs now, to want to know what happened. What made him who he is.

"I didn't know." Just like how he doesn't know. Without the proper context, he won't understand any of what he may have remembered. Not the woman being cut up, or the dark-haired boy sitting next to him. None of it. "Then one day, I stopped by a mail box, and it all came crashing back. My mom getting out to mail a letter. Me still in the car. I watched her die" Lies. Most of it at least. I really did watch my mother die. Dex saw it happen too. That's why we are the way we are. He needs to know that before our Reunion.

"How old were you?"

I want to say six, the truth, but I decide to go younger. Just in case six is too old for suppressed memories. After all, my memories didn't suppress. "Four. I didn't remember anything till I went and mailed a letter. Walked right into the belly of the beast without knowing it." Just like what happened with you. Sorry for the lies, but they seem to work. You look out across the ocean and think. You believe it all, and you are able to do something rarely done; sympathize.

But now that comforting is out of the way, I need to learn. "What kind of memories are you having?", I question. I don't want to hope for too much, but he seems to be opening up.

He is silent a long time, and I hold my breath. It'll make things easier for me to know where he stands. "They're still a little vague" He finally says. It's most likely true, but he still doesn't tell me what isn't vague. What he does know. I still take what little insight I can get.

"Right", because pushing him will only hurt things. "But you are going to have to face it eventually. Maybe next time." I just need him to look closer at the memories, not turn from them. And I know he won't run from the truth. He is my brother, no matter how many times he's been lied to.

"When you see Deb, go with white roses. They're her favorite", Dexter changes the topic. He's done talking about the memories, and that's okay. I have plenty of new information.

"Thanks for the tip." Something I really didn't know. It's also something I really don't care about either, but I'll take note. I decide to bring the conversation back to us. "It's funny how life brings people together" Like us. Okay, it wasn't so much life as my long and precise planning, but close enough. He doesn't say anything though. I just pat him on the back, say my thanks one last time, and leave. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome.

I don't even know why I'm trying so hard. It's not like he has to befriend Rudy Cooper. I want him to befriend Brian Moser, the Ice Truck Killer. And we will. We are brothers, after all. But still, I want to be close to Dexter.

Despite the beers, I'm hardly tipsy. My mind is almost as clear as always. I could easily drive to Deb's home. I'll need to apologize eventually. But I don't. Tonight was a good night. I can't say that Dexter opened up, but I definitively got closer. I don't want to ruin that good feeling by seeing Deb.

So I go home. Screw Deb and the rest of the world. This game has been fun, but I can't wait for our Reunion.

I walk down the hallway into my home. It's a nice building. Brick walls with metal doors. Reminds me of my old home, the mental institute. I get to my door and punch in my code. It had a lock and key before, but security is important to me. I wouldn't want someone to sneak in and find something they shouldn't. I glance up at my security camera as I open the door. Nothing wrong with a good security system. I walk into my home and close the door behind me. Tonight was a good night. I walk into the bedroom and get out of my day clothes. A T-shirt and some sweat pants make for better lounge clothes.

I make my way back into the living room. My answering machine blinks. I have a message. How nice. It better not be Deb. I don't want to think about her anymore. It's becoming harder and harder to keep up my lover farce. I'm going to end up hacking Deb into clean, cool pieces without Dexter if our Reunion doesn't happen soon.

But, as I play the message, it turns out to be Dexter. "Hey, Rudy, this is Dexter. You left your phone at my place. You can pick it up tomorrow at the station if you want. If that doesn't work with you, call me and we'll figure something else out. Bye" How professional. Straight to the point, with the minimum amount of casualness needed to stay under radar. A thinly veiled guise.

The next day I get to work at seven. I have an early appointment. It's with Jack, so I don't mind as much. It's quick, just a check up to make sure the adjustments feel fine. They do and he is in and out within ten minutes.

I don't like him as much as I use to. I remember the first day they came to me. He was a little older than two when they decided it was time for him to start walking. It was hard, because his abdominal wall wasn't muscled in the right places for walking. I had to work with several other doctors, something I hate. To this day, I still want to kill them all.

Jack didn't cry though, just like my brother. He had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a stare that always reminded me of Dexter. Just minus the legs. But now he is older, his hair is still blonde, something that Dexter most likely grew out of by then, he has freckles, glasses, and is a little bit pudgy. He's become just another kid. He isn't Dexter anymore. But that's okay, because I've found my real brother.

My real brother, who I am currently about to meet with the excuse of picking up my cell phone. I step out of the elevator. Where is he? A quick glance around doesn't tell me. He has a desk, I'm sure of it. Does he have a whole office? I turn to a cop and ask, "Excuse me, do you have any idea where Dexter Morgan could be?"

"Uh, yeah. I think he's trying to recreate blood patterns", he tells me while pointing to a door. Blood patterns? Sounds fun.

"Thanks", I nod and smile. Blood patterns. I like the sound of that. The cop escorts me to the door. He doesn't want me running around and stealing information or other valuable things I suppose. At least they know to do that.

I open the door, and there is a large white piece of paper blocking my path. I gently lift it up and enter the small room.

It's beautiful. Blood graces the walls in all sorts of patterns. Sprinkles and spots, dripping globs, fine lines. I typically don't like blood, but I can appreciate this. It's probably not blood, my mind corrects an early mistake. But whatever it is, it looks real. And I know blood. The walls are covered in huge white pieces of paper, with clear plastic behind them to protect the pristine white walls. The room is fairly small, maybe ten feet by ten feet. A simple clock hides behind the plastic. It's hard to see the time with the natural blur that comes from the plastic, and the blood-like substance that drips down the plastic right in front of it.

In the center of the room is a metal table that contains all sorts of power tools. I can take a guess as to where the original blood patterns that he is trying to duplicate came from. Me. But I used a chain saw, and there isn't one on the table. He's not going to find what he is looking for.

"Yo, Dex?", I don't want to seem like I'm enjoying this too much. Plus I want to show the cop behind that I'm familiar with Dexter, that there's no need to hover. Dexter turns to me. He is wearing a clear poncho that has red all over it.

"Hey!", he sounds cheery. Is it because of me or the cop? He doesn't try so hard to act around me, but when other people are introduced, that changes. He puts his current tool on the table and I take another chance to look around.

"So this is what you do for a living?", and as a hobby. But he uses real blood for that.

"Yeah, I'm trying to match cast-off patterns from a crime scene. Power tool was used.", he doesn't want to admit it was the hotel room. The place where he had his panic attack. I'm staring at the wall to my right. The cop is still in the door-way, watching. Guess he'll be my full-time chauffer for the moment. "Here you go", he hands me my phone. He even took off his glove so it wouldn't get covered in his mystery goop.

"Thanks", and my phone is back in my pocket. I don't think anything would be wrong with helping out a fellow serial killer-slash-serial killer-killer. I know I'm dropping my mask and making little mistakes that could come back to bite me, but by the time people connect the dots, Dex and me will be long gone. Besides, even if Dexter started to suspect me of anything, which wouldn't surprise me with his deductive reasoning skills, he wouldn't tell. If he truly wanted to get me caught, he'd tell the police about the first time I contacted him. No, he wants to play this game just as much as I do. He just doesn't know how it will end yet.

I continue to look at the walls. There is even some red on the ceiling. "Circular saw..." It's the closest tool he has to a chain saw. A little hint won't hurt things. "Seems like there's an easier way to make a mess like this", I walk around the room, looking at red lines that flow solidly and have drip trails. There is a big blob of red with the lines around it. My mind tries to make an image out of it. A giant squid eating a whale.

"Trust me, I know. I've been in here for hours" Poor Dex. I can't leave him here for even more hours, trying to find the correct cast-off pattern with incorrect tools. He seems so frustrated and lost...What else are big brother's for?

"You know, in my line of work, you hear all sorts of horror stories. Boat propellers, garbage disposals...Seems like something you would see with a chainsaw." Hopefully he won't notice any of the many reasons why my excuse for knowing this is bogus.

"I hear that, but this power tool was plugged into a socket." Really, Dex? Did you get messed up by something so small as stereotyping chainsaws?

"Guess you haven't heard of an electric chainsaw", I smile and give a small laugh to try to sound less condescending. I look closer at the giant squid and he doesn't say anything. He'll probably be happy when he tries the chainsaw and sees that it works. Or he might be suspicious that I, a doctor with no access to bloody crime scenes and no training on what they should look like, knew immediately how the patterns were created.

"Huh...", he mutters as he looks around the room. Not angry, that's good. "I might have to check into that", he finishes. Please do, Dex, I think you'll like what you find.

Not that it'll matter in the long run. He'll say the killer used an electric chainsaw, and the police will try to trace that back to me. They won't. I stole the chainsaw out of a garage on the other side of Miami, and returned it before anyone knew it was gone. They won't ever solve this case, and Dexter's report will go to waste. Still, it's nice to solve a puzzle, even if the satisfaction is purely personal and internal.

"Here, let me get out of this and I'll walk you out." He seems genuinely happy I gave him the hint. That frustrated look on his face has left. He's probably seen enough crime scenes to know what chainsaw spray will look like. He knows I'm right. Which means one of two things. Either he has no idea who I am, or he knows exactly who I am. Either I'm a harmless stranger who is dating Deb and gave him a good tip, or I'm his play-mate. It's most likely the first, since realization has never seemed to cross his face, aside from realizing I'm right about the chainsaw. He slips out of his dirty poncho and we both leave the room.

"I don't know why I didn't see it before. A chainsaw. It seems so obvious now" He's talking to me as we leave the room. Not just short response and grunts, but a full conversation. That's good, he is relaxing around me. It'll make the Reunion go smoother. If he reacted badly to the suppressed memories of mother's death, there is a chance he'll react badly to the other suppressed memories bound to come up once he starts investigating. It'll be good for him to know I just want to be his brother again, that I'm not going to hurt him.

"I had this patient a few years ago, real horrible story. She had an abusive boyfriend who she tried to break up with, but he broke into her house at night with a chainsaw, and started cutting off limbs. He had cut off her arms and started on her leg when the police came. House was a real mess", and it is a true story. Granted, I never saw the house, I just heard it was a mess from the police officers, but there is the implication that I did see it first hand. A reason to know the chainsaw cast-off patterns. We walk to the elevator and he pushes the button, calling the elevator to us.

"Oh yeah, I think I remember that case. Danielle Marcum was her name, right?" Of course, he was the guy they sent to look at the house. Technically it wasn't homicide, since she didn't die, but it was definitely attempted, and Dexter is the only blood splatter analyst they have, I believe.

"Yeah, that was her name. Sweet woman. A little bit meek, but that is to be expected after...well, you know." I recall information about her. It's not normal for two people to be talking about a woman getting torn apart alive by a lover like it is last night's baseball game, but it's what Dexter likes to think about. Blood. That is how I know this conversation is real, not some act to make him seem normal. He is dropping his guard, talking about something real for him, and I want to show him that I'd love to talk about women being mentally and physically ripped apart anytime of the week. Any other person would turn away from him, but I won't. Not his big brother.

"I never met her. Met her ex though. Not a nice guy", he says. I wonder if Dex killed him? The elevator doors open and we walk through them. I press the button for ground floor and soon we are in isolation from the world, even if it's just briefly.

"That's how it works, I deal with the victims, you deal with the criminals", I joke truthfully. "Was he ever convicted?", I ask with real curiosity.

"No, got off on a technicality.", he smiles as he says it. Yep, he killed that man. And he enjoyed it too.

"I'm sure he got busted for something else though. People like that don't keep on the up and up for very long", I question about his fate. I already know it though. Death by my brother's blade. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to our floor. We both step out and stop.

"No, actually, he went missing shortly after", and he steps back into the elevator without a second to waste. The doors close and he's gone. I smile at his parting comment. Either he knows that I know, or he is starting to slip too. That's okay though, we'll be out of here soon enough.

I step out of the building and return to my office. It's more of a workshop really, but whatever. There are power tools and limbs everywhere. I still find it ironic how it's seen as normal, but at my home, in my freezer, it's far from. I slip on my doctor coat and continue constructing an artificial arm.

It's about an hour later when there is a knock on my door. I wonder who that is. Whoever it is lacks proper manners, because a moment later a short and fat man opens the door. He points at me and asks, "You Rudy Cooper?" I have a bad feeling about this. I nod and continue to look at him. He walks in and I put my tool down to shake his hand. "Angel Batista, I work with your girlfriend, Deb" Shit, a cop. They better not be onto me so soon. The game is not over yet.

"Oh, hi, nice to meet you" The enthusiasm is completely lacking in my voice, but I don't like it when people barge into my office. Especially when that person is a cop, and when I recently filled a hotel room with blood. It's just not a good situation to be in.

"I'd like to ask you a few questioned if you don't mind." Fuck. How can they be onto me? I was too careful. I left nothing! This can't happen. I need to fix this. Now.

"Sure! Sure, just let me grab the door." And a sharp object in which to kill you with. He's probably armed, so it'll have to be a cut to the throat, preferably from behind. That'll be my easiest path. I can't really hide the body, I'll have to run. Right after I kill him. I'll stay in my childhood house. Dexter is already on course, and should find the place without much more help. Just a hint to go there in a few days. It's something I can do under the radar. I get to the door and quickly look outside. No one around to hear the muted sounds of a dying man. Good. I close the door. I could try to push his body into a corner, something to buy me a few more minutes. "So...Does this have to do with a case?" He is looking at a leg I built. Good, his eyes are off me.

"You could say that", he mutters. He's being indirect, not good. Let's see, where is the closest sharp object?

"Wow...Well, fire away" Question-wise that is, keep your gun in your holster just long enough for me to slit your throat. Fuck, how did this happen? I hate it when a good plan goes bad. I grab a sculpting knife off the counter. Perfectly good for killing.

"When I ran into this lady with a prosthetic hand, call girl, actually..." Fuck. I know who he is talking about. I painted her nails. The same pattern as the finger tips the Ice Truck Killer painted. A link has formed between me and the Ice Truck Killer. That's right Angel, just keep looking at the pretty leg. "She says she had a very unique client... " Me. "An amputee devotee." I inch closer to the man before me, blade in hand. His back is still turned, but I don't know how long I have until he looks at me. I have to get this right, first cut has to be fatal. I'll also want as little blood on me as possible. Less suspicious when I leave this place. From behind is the perfect position.

"Do you have a lead on this client?" My voice is thick with blood lust. Crap, I can't give him a hint. He can't have time to scream, call for help, or reach for his gun. It's a knife going against a gun. Surprise is my only chance.

"Well, that's the bitch of it. I don't have a god damn clue", Wait...What? I'm fine. I'm not a suspect. She couldn't recall my face? Thank you God! Or Satan. Whichever one is looking out for me. I put the knife back on the counter. " Except for the freaky sex stuff. I was hoping you could steer me towards some of those weirdoes." Like me. But he doesn't know that. I fight to regain my mask.

"I'm afraid I got into this business to help people get better, not help people get off", with the exception of myself, of course. I smile at him the best I can, but it's damn hard to go from figuring out how to hide his body in the quickest and most effective way, to being a helpful citizen trying to capture a bad guy within seconds.

"I'm sure Debra will be happy to hear that," But she won't be too happy to hear that that was a lie.

"But I can talk to some of my colleges, see if I can draw up a list of contacts for you", gotta act normal. Normal.

"That'd be great", he replies back. I need to be more normal.

"Hey, how often does someone get a chance to help catch a bad guy", and I smile what I hope isn't the single most fake smile in the history of mankind. "You in a rush for this information?" How long do I have to properly kill you and that whore who almost got me killed?

"No, no. I'm chasing a long shot", you won't be chasing it for long. I'm going to have to kill you before you can share this information. "Just, uh, give me call at the station when you have something", and he hands me his card. Angel Batista. Enjoy your last day on earth.

"Will do", I look at him, and hopefully my tension isn't too obvious.

"Good to meet you", he shakes my hand. Good, so he doesn't realize anything is wrong. I nod and he heads for the door. That's right, get the fuck out of my office. He opens the door and waves goodbye. I give him another nod before he leaves. Thank God. And next time he better wait till I fucking invite him in.

I open my drawer containing the nail polish and other hand care equipment. I put the card in there and close it. Fucking hell, that was too close.

This game has been fun, but it needs to end. They police are starting to catch up. Just as soon as Dexter remembers.

Angel Batista is my immediate worry. From what he said, this seems to be the only lead, and he seems to be the only one who knows. Cops don't like to talk about their leads until they know it's a good one. Since his hasn't gone anywhere yet, it's a good bet to say he hasn't told anyone. So, I'll kill him to make sure he won't ever tell anyone. Ever. Then I'll kill that whore, just to tie up that loose end and create a nice distraction from Angel. A dead cop always raises flags, but the return of an infamous serial killer raises more.

So, how to kill the fat cop? I don't want a gun, loud and traceable. A knife is my ideal weapon of choice. The sooner the better. Tonight even. I'll follow him home, and kill him on his way home. I don't know if he is married or not, but I can't take the chance of him returning home to another person. Another person I would have to kill. I'll have to do it sometime between. The most private moment. Walking from his car and to his home.

I need an alibi too. Deb. I'll go apologize to Deb. They'll ask me where I was the night Angel went missing, and I'll be able to say with Deb. She'll confirm it. We will be up all night having make-up sex. She won't be ashamed to say that either. I'll see if I can sneak out after she is asleep, to kill the whore too.

I want to catch him when he's alone too. I'll have to wait for the perfect time. I'll have to be an opportunist. I leave my office and go home. It's almost five anyway, and I need to prepare. I get everything I need, ski mask, hooded jacket, gloves, and a good, sharp hunting knife.

I wait across the street from the police station. The down side of dating Deb, the police force know me, and I shouldn't be here. If I'm spotted, I'm screwed. I won't know it either until they come knocking on my door and drag me to the station. It's a few hours later when Angel leaves, and I believe I remained hidden.

I follow him. Not too close, but still not too far. He stops by a small grocery store, but is done within thirty minutes. He only has a few bags. I take note. He'll have to take them out of the car. He'll have to turn his back to the world when he does too. He eventually parks in a communal parking garage of an apartment complex. I park in the garage that will soon be a crime scene too. I put the jacket and mask on, and hold my knife. I don't like being reduced to such a low kill, but such is life. I won't be around for much longer anyway. Just waiting for Dex to figure things out. Then we can leave town for good. No more of this pretending bullshit.

The hunt is on. No one else is in the garage. I have one shot. Gotta kill him. Fatal stab wound. Right to the neck, he won't have time to scream.

He parks and turns off his car. He gets out after a moment and walks around his car. I have to wait for him to turn his back to me. He can't see me coming. He's armed, he'll shoot me. It's knife versus gun again. I'll have to surprise him. I have one shot. If I fail, I'm dead. I move into position, hiding behind a near-by car. He opens the door to his back seat. His back is turned, I begin to move in. The fastest I can go while still remaining dead silent. He reaches the back seat and pulls out two brown paper bags. Good, his hands are full.

He only gets a chance to shut the door and lock it before I grab him from behind. He struggles, but doesn't yell. One clean stab to the neck, come one. You can do this Brian. I try to get him to stop moving, just long enough for a clear shot. He grabs my elbow and I know I'm fucked. I can't get a good swipe at his neck. His back will have to do. I jam the knife as hard and deep as I can into his lower back. I watch the knife go in, hoping I hit a major artery. A force hits my face, and it pushes me back. I tumble slightly before I fall. I'm stunned, disorientated, my lip hurts, a car alarm goes off, and a man gasps in pain. My head spins, thoughts coming and going without ever staying long enough for me to make sense of them. Is this how I get caught?

They'll come down and catch me. Haul me to the station and take off my mask. Everyone will know I tried to kill Angel. Deb will want to know why, and I'll have nothing to tell them. There is no excuse for this.

And Dexter. Dexter. I started this game knowing the dangers. But I also knew the rewards. I have to say, as I lie on the ground, it was worth it. To even have my chance at being his brother again, I'd gladly die. Because I have nothing else besides Dexter. No mother, no father, children, wife, friends, nothing. Just my brother. My last attachment to reality. I smile while on the ground. Yes, it was very worth it.

But what will he think? When they pull off the mask and he sees my face? No, he won't understand. It's too soon. I can't get caught. Dexter is still waiting. He still needs my help to find himself. He needs his big brother.

I get up, slowly. I wobble. Angel is just now falling. He reaches for his gun, but can't quite get it. Don't worry Dex, your big brother will never, ever leave you. I pick up my knife. I need to finish the job. I only get one step towards him before two people start to run down the stair case. Fuck. I should have finished him sooner. I take off running. My head is still spinning. One of them briefly follows me before returning to Angel. That fucker better be dead.

I get into my car, my head is starting to ache. Everything hurts. My back, arms, legs, and especially my lip. I realize that I still need to flee the scene. I turn on my chosen car from a bar parking lot and get out of there. My head begins to clear. Fuck. That didn't go well. He might live. Living is not a good thing for Angel to do. I'm driving off now. I remove my mask and jacket at a stoplight. I don't have time. With witnesses comes a more exact time. I need to get to the station fast. I need my alibi to start now. I look in my rear view mirror. "Fuck...", I mutter to myself as I see my lip. I got a cut on my lip. Mishap at work with some tools. No one will question it.

Unless they suspect me of stabbing Angel.

A quick stop by my local flora store for some white roses, by the bar for my own car, and I'm off to homicide. Flowers will make things seem more planned, less like a forced alibi. I'm still wearing my suit from work when I step into the building. I straighten my shirt and smooth down my pants. I have to look good for this. Like I didn't just try to kill a man.

I ride the elevator up to the homicide department. Doakes is leaving right as I enter. I nod hello and continue on. Deb is the only other one in the room. I walk towards her and look down at the roses. "For you", I state plainly. My mind is still rushing and a little bit hazy. I hope I don't have a concussion.

"It's too late, you blew it." I want to kill her so badly right now. It's been such a long day. I've had plan after plan fail, and my house of cards is starting to tumble. I just want this one thing to go right, even though it doesn't matter if she breaks up with me right here and now. I just want to control _something_ like the way I use to. I don't let this show though. I've learned, I need to keep the mask up tightly, right up until the very day of the Reunion.

"I didn't blow it. This is the first chance I've had to talk", because it's just too hard to be a perfect boyfriend now. I didn't hit her and call her a bitch like I want, so it's a victory.

"I'm too tired to talk", come on you bitch. I can tell you I'm a lot more tired than you.

"Well, let's go home", I'm trying to find something to say, anything, but words are escaping me. I really hope I don't have a concussion. "Fall into bed", that does sound good. A bed without Deb sounds even better, but I have to stay her boyfriend for a little while longer.

"Why , Rudy? I mean fucking why? You didn't want to fall into bed the other night when I laid my heart out on the phone...You wanted to talk to my brother", I knew that would come back to bite me. Alright, time for drastic measures.

"I was confused-", she interrupts me before I can finish.

"Well, I'm not confused. That's the problem. I know what I want." God damn it Deb. Today has been too long for me to be able to deal with you. For all I know, I'll be in a jail cell by the end of the week.

"I was confused because I love you-", she begins to interrupt me again, but I got the important part out.

"What I want is very simple, and uncomplicated", and then she stops and looks surprised. That took a minute to sink in. Yes, it'll change the relationship between me and Deb, and I'll have to put in more boyfriend time, but God damn it, I just want to go to bed. Besides, it's looking like this game won't last much longer. I just want to sleep, and to be able to wake up without dieing from a concussion or being arrested right after waking up. "What did you say?" Great, now I have to deal with overly excited Deb.

"I love you", I whisper, thick with what she'll read as emotion. Really, I want to cry over all my failed plans and lost control. This game has gotten too real. I just want Dexter to remember so we can leave Miami and live free.

"Don't try to change...", she starts weakly. Hell no, she isn't going to deflect that one. I lean in and kiss her. Can we please just go home now? "Fuck..." she whispers as I pull back.

"What?" Because I swear to God, anymore shit today, and I'm going to Dexter's apartment, telling him I'm his brother and skipping town with him tonight.

"I love you too", she whispers back. Thank God. Now maybe we can get out of here before word about Angel hits us, and forces me to stay up all night helping Deb deal with things. I need to be home when she hears the news. As sad as it is, I still have another person to kill tonight. And with Angel potentially living, it's all the more important I tie up the loose end and create a diversion. We begin to kiss again, but I pull back and hiss once it gets too passionate. My lip still hurts. "What happened to your lip?" She just now notices. Good, maybe it isn't that apparent. Though I'm sure it will be tomorrow.

"Oh, just an incident with a tool at the workshop." And she seems to buy the lie. How else would I hurt myself? Assaulting a detective isn't someone's first guess. At least not yet.

"Well, let's get you home and take care of it" Sounds goods to me. Although I would prefer to clean it myself, I know she will. I can't muster too much energy to care. She begins to walk towards the elevator. She is holding the flowers. She stops and turns around, looking at me. She smiles, and she is happy. I'm happy too. Well, less pissed off than I previously was. It's close enough to happy.

I walk up next to her and grab her hand. We walk out of the building together. Silent, for once. I'm glad. It's been an eventful day, and it's not even over yet. The next few days will be even more eventful.

The time is coming Dexter. I hope you'll be ready soon, because my time is running out.


	11. Truth Be Told

We just got home, and I'm looking forward to my nice, soft bed. But I can't sleep yet, as depressing as that thought is. There is a chance Angel will live to tell about that whore who remembers me. I don't know if the stab wound was fatal or not. And I'm sure Deb will be called to the scene any second now. She'll be dealing with Angel all night. Plenty of time for the Ice Truck Killer to make another appearance.

Well, in the mean time I have a good view of Deb's cleavage. I stare shamelessly. We are both on my bed, cotton balls and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide join us. She dips a ball into the clear liquid and dabs it on my lip. I flinch at the sting, but otherwise remain still. I know from first-hand experience how annoying a squirmy patient is. Another cotton ball dipped in plain water comes to my lip. She is soft and gentle, convinced that I'm her lover now. How I want to kill her. I'm a doctor and could clean and medicate myself much better than she can, yet she still feels that she has to be the one to deal with my lip.

I have to kill the whore who told about me. The sooner the better. Tonight. If Angel lives even long enough to share about her, others will come to her. And then to me. Sure, I got out of the garage fine, I didn't leave any evidence, I know this, but it would have been so much better if he just died then and there. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I did kill him. I know I didn't hit a major artery, he would have bleed out in seconds, but maybe I hit a major-enough artery, and he still bleed out, it just took longer. Here's to hoping.

Now, I just have to wait for Deb to get called in. Once she gets called in, she'll be at the scene for a few hours, and then I'm sure she'll wait for Angel to either get out of surgery or die on the operating table. Please be the last one. I just need a little bit more time as Rudy Cooper. Just enough for Dex.

Deb's phone rings. Thank God, finally. That must be dispatch. She gets up and open's it to read a text message. I watch her face intently. Brief frustration, probably from being called to work so late, to confusion that morphs into horror. Yep, my dear girlfriend has to leave me now. "Batista's been stabbed...", she whispers more to herself. She clears her throat and tries to act like she isn't about to cry. "This guy I work with has been stabbed..." She stands there awkwardly.

I get a worried look on my face, glad that my plans are starting to work again. "Will he be alright?", I really do want to know. I don't want the same answer as Deb, but I still want the answer.

"I don't know, but I have to go...I'm sorry-", she begins, but I can't have that.

"No, it's alright. I mean, your friend's been stabbed. It's sort of an emergency" I'm being an understanding and loving boyfriend right now. "Just, call me once you know, and I'll see you tomorrow" I get up and kiss her. Only briefly; my lip is really starting to hurt.

"Thanks for understanding, Rudy..." She puts on her jacket and hurries out. I smile once she is gone. I go and clean up the bed, throwing the used cotton balls away and putting the hydrogen peroxide back into its proper place. I may have a limited window to find, kill, freeze, butcher, and display the whore who told about me, but I can't just let a mess go uncleaned. I make a call, requesting to meet a certain whore. I will mess her up. She will be very dead. I set a meeting point and leave for it. The less time anyone sees me with her, the better. I'm standing there, on the sidewalk, waiting. She walks through the crowd in a skimpy outfit, plastic hand with finger nails painted different colors. I don't allow myself to indulge in my fetish often, and this is why. She liked the nail polish. That is how they found her. I left a trace. I showed Brian Moser, fucked-up sociopath to her, and she walked away. Walked away with a piece of who I am on the inside no less, showing it to the world. I won't make that mistake again.

"No way. You're the one I'm suppose to meet" She remembers me perfectly. Damn. I wonder how much information she already leaked. I should have just killed her the first time. But that hand...I won't make that mistake twice.

"In the flesh", and soon yours will be frozen solid under a Christmas tree by morning. I'm going to display this one, and since it's so close to Christmas, I'll even wrap her up in pretty ribbons and display her festively.

"I was just talking to someone about you", a cop, you stupid bitch. You told a cop about me. For that, you will pay. I nod and escort her back to a car. It's not mine, again. Angel's stabbing was too general to be linked back to the Ice Truck Killer. They might even write it off as a mugging that went wrong. But this woman, she'll be done in my usual style. That is why I have to be careful.

I take her back to my apartment. I will sleep with her. I don't intend to do her like last time, but I've been with Deb so many times now that I need the variety. I don't usually indulge in my fetish. I don't enjoy killing amputees, so they tend to be a loose end. I have to be gentle with them. It's hard to explain, but they remind me of my mother. The way they can just come apart. It's amazing really. Their perfection. Limbs made of plastic, frozen in time. That is why I fuck her gently. Her and that hand of hers. Finger nails all different colors. It's like she walked right out of one of my wet dreams.

I've used her, and though I don't like it, it's time for her to die. I have a marker, and I draw lines on her legs. The lines that mark where to cut. Yes, I'll make a nice, clean cut on her upper thigh. She laughs, "That tickles", and I stop briefly. That's right, she isn't dead yet. I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to still drain and freeze her. "Don't stop", she mutters.

"I wouldn't dream of stopping", I mutter as I continue to draw the lines. I can't let you live any longer. I'm not going to stop. Because if I stop and don't kill you, they'll find you and question you. And then they'll make sure to stop me. And the Reunion will never happen. Dexter will lose his brother, and I can't do that to him. He needs his big brother.

"You're so different this time. Gentle. I thought you were going to get all pervy with my stump again", no, I didn't do that. If I did, I might not have the will to kill her. There is just something about them that makes it hard to kill. My Achilles' heel. But unlike Achilles, it won't be my downfall. I'll right my past mistake and kill this woman.

"Actually, your perfection is what saved you the first time", I usually kill my whores. But I couldn't kill her with her hand. She won't be lucky this time though.

"Save me from what", she asks laughingly. She still doesn't know that she is about to die, even after that hint. I move to draw a line lower down on her leg. Another good place to cut.

"True artistry", but this time she will be perfect. Beautiful, for my dear little brother. I let my mask come off now. Dexter enjoys talking to his victims in their last moments. I enjoy it too. It's the only time when we can truly talk. Tell our secrets, and share our hidden thoughts. It's a shame they never like the ideas that come out. That's why it'll be so great to tell someone the truth, someone that will listen, understand. It's breath taking. Amazing. "The gist of my work is not in the product itself, but rather the presentation.", and I wonder if she has any idea what I'm talking about. "That wrinkled flesh on your radiocarpal joint is far from perfect. It's quiet unsightly actually.", I take note of her blemished stump. Something that will have to be removed so Deter won't see. He deserves nothing short of perfection.

"Hey, you don't have to be an asshole about it", she sits up, disrupting my work. This conversation has been nice, but it's time to end it. A living body is too hard to work on.

"Hey, no, no, no, shhhh", I try to get her to calm down. I sit behind her and rub her shoulders. Like a kosher kill, calming the animal that is about to die. Killing it in comfort. I lean down and whisper that I'm sorry in her ear. She seems to relax. Good. "I didn't mean to offend", and I didn't. I was just an artist musing over a spot on his blank canvas. I softly reach my arm around her neck, getting ready to strangle her. "Truthfully, I'm thankful for you.", she reaches up and rubs the arm that will soon take her life. "You're my escape plan", and she should keep the cops busy. The return of the Ice Truck Killer trumps the stabbing of a cop. Less attention on my blotched hunt, and more on my successful one.

"Escape from what?", and she still has no idea. Ignorance is bliss, it's true. If she knew what is about to happen, she wouldn't be smiling.

"The police", I tell her plainly and honestly. She looks confused. "Because of you, I've had to speed up my project", and how I hate you for it. Nothing is done best rushed. "I need something to distract them with. I've always found a freshly chopped up body does the trick", and I roughly tighten my arm and lift. She begs and kicks for me to stop, but that never works. "Don't struggle, that never helps.", you can ask any of my old whores. "I'm compressing your carotid artery, and that is cutting off oxygen to your brain. In about ten seconds, you'll be unconscious.", I tell her out of habit. Doctors are suppose to tell their patients what they are medically doing to them.

She is out soon enough. I gently lay down her head and look over her. Her last few seconds were terrifying. I don't like to scare her like that, but I think I'll use her a little bit more. I'll need a big return to completely throw the cops off. A video will be perfect. I'll fill it with nothing important, and they'll have all their cops analyze it for hours. Angel will get little to no attention. I pick her up and sling her across my shoulder, like a hunter carrying a dead animal. That's what this is. After all, they say the most dangerous game is human, and it is dangerous. But this is also a very fun game. I carry her to my freezer and put her on the table. I grab the remote and up she goes. I leave the room briefly to retrieve my video camera. I put it on a box upside-down, so that the whore will appear right-side-up. I go and grab a few large pieces of paper and write a script on them. Some bullshit about being mad about the wrong arrest. Like I give a shit. Dexter never bought it, and that's all that matters. Of course Dexter knew better. He's my brother. A fellow sociopath. He's the only one that understands, that sees my work for what it is; a masterpiece.

I tightly tie the whore's hair in a bun behind her head. I don't want blood on her pretty hair. I slap the whore's face, waking her up. She looks groggy at first, but soon she remembers. Her eyes go wide with fear. "Oh God..." she whispers.

"You can pray if you want, just make it quick. I have a video to make. It's never worked before, but hey, maybe God loves you just a little bit more." If God did exist, and gave a shit about what I do, he would have stopped me long ago.

"Why me?", she begins to cry. That warrants an answer. She deserves to know why she is being punished.

"Because you told on me. That man you were talking to earlier, the cop, you connected me with the Ice Truck Killer. That deserves a punishment.", she begins to hyperventilate, full realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Just so long as she is able to talk to the camera.

"The Ice Truck Killer?", she sobs out. She is making those annoying squawky cries.

I turn and give her my full attention. "In the flesh", is my dark joke. She starts to scream, but I cover her mouth. Can't have the neighbors calling the cops. Not that they'll ever hear through the thick walls. I custom made this freezer to be almost sound-proof. "Now, I need you to make a video for me. Can you do that?", I ask in a calm and patient tone. Deb shouldn't be getting back to me until much later, so I have time.

She sniffles and tries to contain her cries. Good girl. She nods soon. "Good, I need you to read off of these papers.", and I kneel down, holding the script upside-down and at her eye level. I turn on the camera and motion for her to start.

"You arrested the wrong man. Made the world think I'm a rank amateur. And I'm very, very angry. To answer for your mistakes..." She begins to sob again. Great, I don't want to do another take. I'm using a video tape, not a DVD, they store too much information, and I don't have a million tapes. "Help me please..." she gets through the sobs. She better continue soon. I don't care if begging is on the tape, but I'd rather not have it go on for too long. I don't want to bore Dexter with the tears of a dead woman.

She just continues to cry though. Great, she is done. That's good enough of a tape. I know I'm not going to get a better one with her sobbing like this, and I don't have all night to calm her down. I move to grab a knife. "No, please, no..." Begging again? That'll do no better than the first time. Some say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Maybe I'm the sane one here. I walk in front of her, blocking the camera, and cut her throat. I move out of the shot to show her, throat cut open and blood rolling down her face. At best, they get a good look at my ass when I entered the scene. I grab the camera and turn it off. I pop the tape out and put it in the case. That'll give them something to think about.

I lower the table, take her bloodless body off and put it on my working table. I turn on the light. I need a good working space. I freeze the body with liquid nitrogen. And they always said that chemistry is boring.

Next up, I cut her into pieces. That wrinkled flesh on her stump is bothersome. I cut her other arm where the stump is, but I can't have that blemish shown. What will my brother think? No, she has to be perfect, flawless. I'll just have to cut off the stump. The uneven cut bugs me, but oh well. Let it go, Brian, let it go. Not everything in life is perfect. But how I wish I could make her perfect. Just for Dexter. Let it go. I push the thought out of my head.

Aside from that uneven cut, she looks amazing. Her flesh shines, almost like plastic. But this one is real. I wrap half of them, as I usually do, but this time I do extra. It's almost Christmas. I remember Christmas growing up. The counselors forced us to do Secret Santa. They would even take us outside to shop. In small groups, of course. They don't like a dozen mentally disturbed children running around Wal*Mart. We needed constant supervision when we were not in our government-approved padded rooms.

We had anywhere from two to ten dollars to do our shopping, depending on how much money the institution got. I remember the best gift I ever got from Secret Santa; a bag of marshmallows. You laugh, but it's not the worst gift. I was put with the very disturbed children, since I was one, and they weren't too into the whole idea of gift-giving.

But those days are gone. I'm humming 'Deck the Halls', as I readjust the bows. I tied ribbon around all of them. All different colors, with shiny ribbons and ornaments. I think I'll enjoy next Christmas. I'll have a family then. Dexter. Sure, he probably isn't too big into celebrating, neither am I, but it'll be nice to have family with me.

Even this year, you could say I'm celebrating Christmas with family. This is my gift to Dexter. A reminder, something to tell him I haven't left him. I'll never leave him. He might not have anything ready for me quite yet, but he can call our Reunion a present. And it's exactly what I always wanted too. I adjust the placement of the hand on the table. It's perpendicular to a leg. That's better, nice and ordered. Even. I examine the body. Looks good. I pick up the fake hand. It has an engagement ring on it. It's very pretty too. Maybe that'll be the way to kill Deb. Propose to her, then kill her. With Dexter, of course.

It'll be a good excuse to get her out on a boat. A boat so they police will look for her at sea, they're that stupid. I need to end this game. The police will find me soon. I need that to happen on my terms, so I can control it. So I need to reveal who I am as soon as possible. Dexter must have found the article by now. Now all he needs is a signal to go home. And a reason to go home. He'll look for Deb, no doubt. He'll piece things together before the police do. He'll know better than to tell them too. He'll look for Deb without the police. I'll tell him where I have her. And then he'll return home, with the intent of saving Deb. But then he'll remember. And then he'll end up killing Deb. I take the ring off of the fake hand, pleased at my plan.

This game is escalating. It's almost over, and it's at its most deadly stage. No, I can't slack off. I made mistakes earlier. I thought now was the time to get lax with my act, but really now is the time to go full throttle. There is a red light and a buzzing sound. I look up at the screen to see who could be here so late at night. Deb. Of course. "Shit, just what I need", after just getting back together with her, I can't afford to push her back and send her home. I'll need to get her on a boat for a romantic get away. I'll just have to take her in, and make sure she stays the hell out of my freezer. I don't want to have to kill her before her time.

I hurry out of my gear and run to the bedroom. I strip down and pull on a pair of sweatpants. Hopefully she'll think I was sleeping. I run out and open the door. "Hey", I try to act surprised and happy.

"I know it's late. I guess you didn't get my message", Nope. Angel better be dead. But she seems too happy for that. Shit, he'll live. And he'll tell about me and the whore. The whore who is now dead. That's one success. Just so long as Deb doesn't walk in and see her. Not that she has ever felt compelled to go into my freezer before. But after a long day of fails, I just want to drop off the whore and go to sleep. "I drove by and saw your car" Great, she wants in. As expected. "I can go", she says after I don't say anything. I can't be a bad boyfriend tonight. Just a few more days of being Mr. Perfect, then I'm free.

"Get your ass in here." I grab her hands and pull her in. I have time. A good fuck and she'll be out cold. Then I can dump the body. "It was about time you were arriving anyway", I close the door and hug her.

"You have no idea how much I need this" She says into my shoulder. "You feel good", it still amazes me how people can get comfort from me. I act and smile just right, but it's all fake. And they have no idea. "And you're cold. You're freezing", from the freezer. Despite my running around, I couldn't warm up fast enough.

"Well then stay and keep me warm" I usher her in. "Stay here, I'm going to go throw a shirt on", and I return to my bedroom. One dark, long sleeve shirt and a couple of glasses of wine later, and I'm on my couch next to Deb.

"This Batista thing has gotten to you, hasn't it?", I ask while placing a hand on her head.

She nods and says, "Angel's daughter was there."

"That sounds rough. Daughter of a cop. Just like you", because I'm back to being the perfect boyfriend who knows exactly what to say.

"I remember what that's like. Kissing your father goodbye. I was afraid for the last time." She is emotional. I need to hurry up and deal with her. I still have that dead whore in the freezer. But now isn't the time to rush. I've been waiting to kill Deb for a long time. It's finally time. I need to set that up.

"Hey, let's get out of town for the weekend. Just the two of us.", she smiles but doesn't agree. If there is one plan that has to work, it's this one. I cannot blow the Reunion. And part of the Reunion is having Deb there for the kill. "We need to talk", and her smile drops. Right, 'We need to talk' usually means 'I'm sick of looking at your face'. I am sick of her face, but this time 'We need to talk', means 'I'm going to propose to you and then do some minor killing afterwards'.

"I'm sitting right here", she says meekly, trying to cover up the fear with happiness. That's normal for people. They pretend almost as much as I do. It's just to cover up different things. I'll let her sweat things out a little bit. I can't tell her what I'm planning, the proposal or murder.

"Nope", I smile and hopefully she'll get the hint that I'm not going to dump her. I'm just going to kill her. "The time has got to be right" It'll help if she just follows my plans. And she'll be more willing to do that if she believes my plan will make her happy.

She nods and says okay. "It'll have to wait. We still have to catch the asshole who did this to Batista." Damn you Deb. Once you catch that asshole, you'll never want to see me again. Which I'm fine with, I'm looking forward to not having to deal with you every day, but that is not the proper solution. No, Batista will have to wait. This takes first priority.

"Be warned; I can be very persistent. I need to get out of town, and I need you to come with me", I say that last part between kisses. She is coming out of town with me. No way in hell will I let my Reunion with Dexter get foiled. That is many years in the making, and the center of this game. Everything else, including Deb, Batista, and even my life, means nothing next to my brother.

"Well, I need to sleep. Which will not be easy. I'm totally wired after all this shit." Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm pretty wired right now too. I won't be able to sleep until that dead girl is out of my freezer and under a Christmas tree.

"Well, lucky for you, I have the perfect cure", I hold out my arms, "My loving arms." However I can get her asleep. She laughs and goes into my embrace. Be a good boyfriend. Knock out my girlfriend. Doing both at the same time after what can fairly be dubbed a day from hell is not easy. "I got a little thing to help you sleep." If I can drug her with consent that'll be perfect. Drugging her without will still work too.

She looks down at my crotch. And people call me a pervert. "What do you mean, 'A little thing'?" Penis joke. Alright. Moving on.

"I meant Valium. It's one of the perks working at the hospital." I wonder if she has any idea how powerful that shit is? It'll put her out. I won't have to worry about her waking up to find me gone.

"Wine and Valium? Well, I'll be totally helpless." Is she proposing that I'll rape her? Silly Deb, try as I might, I can't rape the willing.

"You read my mind", and we kiss yet again.

I can't rape the willing, but I can certainly fuck the hell out of them. Alcohol, plus Valium, plus intense sex equals one hell of an unconscious Deb. One hour is all it took for the three to come together. Deb is now sleeping on my bed. The one that I fucked and strangled a whore on just a few hours ago. If only she knew what I did when she wasn't around...

I get the whore and gently put her in my extra large cooler. I wear my usual illegal-suit. A dark long-sleeve shirt, black slacks, and a pair of sunglasses. I already picked out the spot, Santa's shack. It's some little Christmas-themed mall for children to go and pretend Santa is real and lives in Miami. Hell of a way off of the North Pole.

I hate to push Dexter like this, but I really need him to figure things out soon. I plan to prepare Deb this weekend. It can't take him that much longer to piece things together, right? I go to building 103. I stop the clock and turn it to 1:03. It's a very important number. Police can't do crap with it, but Dexter can.

I go to a nicely decorated tree with most-likely fake presents already wrapped underneath it. I place the body parts. They look so nice, like they belong there. I place them randomly angled and spaced equally apart, as though they were any other present. The only difference is that these are a real gift. They are for my little brother.

A memory comes back to me. Christmas. The earliest one I remember. Dexter was a baby, and Joe was there, so Dexter must have been very young. Before the incident where Joe took us to a strip club. Dexter sits there, inactive and blank like only a baby can be. But I remember sitting with him. Joe wanted to go out and play with me, but I wanted to stay with Dexter. It was Christmas, and Christmas is about family. Dexter was my family, not Joe. I knew that even then.

I remember the second Christmas with Dexter. He was over one, and he could walk. He would follow me and I would laugh. He tried to eat the plastic ornaments from the tree, like he tried to eat everything. Joe wasn't there that time. It was just me, Dexter, and mother.

Then the third, and final, Christmas with Dexter. He was two, and could talk. He never stopped talking ever. Asking what that was, and why whoever did whatever. It always frustrated mother the way he had questions, but I loved it. I loved to be a big brother to him. To show him the world and make him understand.

But then that changed. Mother died, and Dexter left. No, he was taken from me. I snap back to reality. Right, the body and the tree. Anger wells up. I'm angry about what happened, what could have been prevented, and what may have been.

I leave the tape under the torso there too before quickly leaving. It's early, the sun will come up soon, and I'm out of time. I had to set things up too quickly, I broke a few ornaments and twigs. Even though things have yet to come together, I still feel like I'm spending this Christmas with Dexter.

I hurry out of the cheap mall and home. Now that the adrenaline from having the dead body with me is gone, the fatigue is setting back in. Fucking _finally_. That is the only thought I have when my head finally hits my pillow. At five A.M. Two hours until work. It's something, at least.

The alarm clock goes off in two hours and Deb gets up. I'm usually a morning person, but I really don't want to get up. I need my sleep. After the Reunion, I can sleep in all I want. That's one happy thought to start my day. Post-Reunion. I get up and go off to work. Not that I do work there, I'm too tired for that today. I just nap in my office-slash-workplace. My phone beeps and I pull my head off of the fake leg that makes a wonderful pillow. Deb wants to have lunch with me. I hate the thought of leaving my office, and thus my sleep, but I need to be a good boyfriend for just a little while longer. Just until the night. I can handle that. So here I am, walking up to the table that Dex and Deb are currently sitting at. Good, maybe Dexter will stay. That'll make things more bearable.

"Dex, Deb didn't say you'd be joining us" Please stay. I'm too tired to deal with her alone.

"Well, apparently she's had a lot on her mind", I wonder what that could mean? I take a seat at the table.

"Oh, shit, it's work. I have to go. Here, take mine", she says as she looks at her beeping phone. She gives me her food and kisses my cheek before saying sorry and leaving. Wow. This is good. That was a clear lie about work, but hey, whatever gets me more time with Dexter. I take a drink from Deb's cup. Coke. If only they made it like they use to, with real cocaine. Then I'd wake up.

"What's with your lip. Deb catch you with a right hook? She can be pretty protective with the remote", he jokes, and it's good to see him relax around me, even if that means he's now acting for me.

"I had a little workshop accident this morning", never mind the fact that I didn't touch a single tool this morning. He doesn't know that though, and he doesn't need to. If I told him I got it last night, he might start piecing things together like he did when Joe died.

"Doesn't look like it happened this morning. The cut's already closing up." Of course he'll catch me dead in a lie. Or a slip of the tongue, if I pass it off correctly.

"Did I say today? I meant yesterday morning. I've been working too hard", and I laugh so he won't suspect anything. Dexter is great at analyzing facts, but get human emotions and acts into it, and he's brain dead. I'm counting on that right now. He nods and I move the topic on. "Anyway, I don't think my lip is the reason why Deb arranged this little chit-chat." We have to get to the point sooner or later.

"My sister is afraid there may be trouble in paradise", from last night, most likely. The, 'We need to talk' episode did startle her.

"Well, your sister is wrong." A good thing about Dex, it doesn't take a lot of acting to fool him.

"So this whole 'Need to talk' thing?" I knew it. I'll let Dexter know the first half of my plan. He'll pass it on to Deb, and there'll be no more drama. Well, not the kind that'll mess up our Reunion.

"I'm starting to look at the big picture. She is someone I could see spending the rest of my life with, you know?"

"No, I don't know", he says deadpan. Clearly not the romantic type, as expected. "But I do know that Deb has fallen for you. Hard. If you hurt her-"

"Then you'll hurt me", I finish. He won't feel that way tomorrow. Soon, he'll learn the truth. Then it'll be Deb that he's hurting.

"Something like that", he replies back. I don't buy it. Another thing that Harry taught him, I'm sure. Being protective of his fake sister. There is only one way he knows how to hurt people, and he saves that for people who do a lot worse things than just hurt Deb. As is, I'm eligible to be hurt by Dexter by both standards, but I know he won't. Not once he learns. I just laugh and take a bite out of my taco.

He doesn't say much else. It's nice, to just have a quiet lunch with him. I don't try to force conversation like before. I just enjoy the peace. I imagine we'll do this a lot after our Reunion. Soon, though, we both leave and I have to get back to work. Real work this time. I can't spend anymore time napping today. Guess I'll have to turn to coffee.

It's a few hours later that I have enough of a break to text Deb. If she still thinks that I'm going to let her ruin the Reunion, she is mistaken. 'Cum sail away with me for the weekend', ended with a smiley face. I'm having trouble talking to her about this without using swear words and death threats. But that won't get me anywhere. I need her on that boat this weekend. No excuses. It's for Dexter.

I leave work early. I don't usually feel very many emotions, but right now I'm feeling a lot. Excitement, joy, nervousness. fear, frustration. I have some trouble categorizing them, since most of them are so new. I place a record of "Born Free" by Andy Williams in my new Barbie record player at my house. Everything is still set up in my freezer from last night. I place a doll with an apron saying, "Home, Sweet Home' on top of the player. All the hints that Dexter will need. I run through a mental checklist to make sure everything is set up. I went by Dexter's apartment, set the song to start playing along with his new screens saver. Lions on the hunt, to remind him that he's not Harry's hunting dog, he is his own beast. I have the doll and the new Barbie record player containing 'Born Free', by Andy Williams, freezer has grade A evidence proving I'm the Ice Truck Killer. Dexter surely has learned about out mother by now. There'll be hints to lead him to the home that only we know about. Motivation will be to save Deb.

Our old house is fully stocked. It has all the supplies Dexter uses to kill, plus some food, just in case. He'll get there, I just don't know when. Boat is rented under the name 'Rudy Cooper', that'll be a fine wild goose chase for the cops, all that is left is getting Deb on the boat. So while I'm just standing on said boat, I call her. Because she _will_ get her ass on this mother fucking boat, even if I have to wait in the bathroom for her to take a piss, knock her out, and drag her onto the boat.

It rings a few times, then finally she answers. "Hey!"

"Heeey...Super cop! What's the word?", I try not to let my sheer nervousness-induced insanity show, because right now I've stopped caring about all else. The only thing in the entire world is me, my boat, and the cunt known as Deb.

"I'm kind of in a thing right now", like hell you are! Your ass will be on this boat.

"Got it. I'll be quick. You never answered my text. Do I have the pleasure of your company this weekend?", to butcher and maim you until you are dead? Alright, so I'll probably just stab her. With Dexter. We'll do it together.

"Uh, yeah, about that..." Nope! That is not a valid answer.

"Come on Deb, it's only two days." Get on the God damned boat already!

"I know, I know, it's just, we had a major break in the Ice Truck Killer case." A break? Did I mess up again? Did Angel tell about the whore? Maybe I have less time than I thought. All the more reason she needs to get on the boat right now. "I promise, as soon as we catch this douche bag, you and I are going to spend the whole week together in bed. You are not going to be able to get rid of me." Yeah...I don't think it's going to go down that way. If I have less time anyway, then why go for the whole two days alibi?

"Okay, okay, but, how about dinner?" _Anything_ that will get you on this boat.

"Oh my God, you are persistent!" Only in life and death situations.

"Well, you gotta eat, right? Sooo...Why not eat dinner with me?" Come onto my boat already! I feel like a pedophile trying to lure a child into my van. I like to think this is a little bit better. "On this yacht I'm on.", I throw in for good measure. Come on Deb, this is the last time I will ever ask you anything. After this I'll just use force.

"Where the hell did you get a yacht?" She is surprised. Good, maybe she'll feel too obliged to ditch me when I already spent a lot of money for the 'Romantic dinner'.

"I rented it", and it's true. It defeats the point of having the cops look for us at sea if they don't know we ever left land. A stolen boat is a lot harder to trace than a rented one. "I thought we'd have a nice couple days to be out there but we can still have a nice night", I wanted a little bit more of a head start before they realize Deb is missing, but whatever I can get. Silence, I'm not winning her over. Alright, if this doesn't get her on the boat, it's time to get violent. "And then there's that thing we need to talk about", and I'm sure Dexter told her what that 'Thing' is. Honestly, that whole lunch with him was perfect. A great way to gain the upper hand. Even without knowing it, Dexter still helps me.

"Um, okay, well maybe I can take an hour for dinner" Finally! She relents!

"I can work with an hour" It'll speed things up a lot more than I wanted, but I can definitely work with that.

"I mean a real hour. Not one of your 'Lets stretch this out till two A.M., might as well stay and have sex' hours", Yes, Deb, a one hour head-start before the cops come looking is okay with me. Just a little bit uncomfortable timing-wise.

"Right, real hour, no fakie, got it."

"Alright, I'll get out of here as fast as I can. I'll see you soon.", and I smile as she hangs up. I got Deb on the boat. The plan will commence.

I set things up just right. Because if she gets swept up in the magic and passion of the moment, the less likely she is to back out of getting on the boat. And she needs to get on my boat. So I line the boat with Christmas tree lights, all white, and line the dock with white roses. Her favorite. I wear my best suit, and I look as good as I can possibly manage. How can she turn away from this? So now I stand on this boat, single white rose in hand, for dearly soon-to-be departed Deb.

Finally, she walks up. Good. Even if she tries to back out, worst case scenario, I knock her out and just carry her on the boat. But she looks at me with awe, and throws her head back in joyous laughter. Laugh while you can. "Fuck me!" she laughs.

"I believe your rules specifically prohibit such actions", I smartly reply, and she runs onto the boat. I reach out my arm and help her. That's right Deb, get on the boat.

"Did you do all this?", she is awed by how nice the boat looks.

"In fact, I did", took me a few good hours, but so worth it. Every bit of insurance is well worth it. Because the Reunion must go off without a hitch. "You like?"

"I like", she is so happy. Silly little Deb..."I like so much it makes what I have to tell you so much harder." Fuck no. I can knock her out within thirty seconds. Leave if you want. The only two options you have is that this can be fun for you, or this can be fun for me.

"Please tell me you are not leaving", I would prefer it if I had my full hour as a head start. And I don't want any witnesses calling in a man strangling and dragging a woman on a yacht.

"I'm sorry, I hit traffic. It took me thirty minutes to get here. I have to turn around and go right back", alright, contingency plan time. I pull out the ring I stole off of the last whore and get down on one knee. "Oh my God...", she whispers. "Hold on, hold on! Wait", things are moving too fast for her. Suck it up Deb, bigger things are moving a lot faster for me.

"Well, you're sort of forcing my hand here", I joke, hiding my real frustration. She won't be able to deny me after this. "I wanted to wait till we were out on the water, but..."and I hold the ring up to her. "Here it goes. I know this seems fast, but I feel...I feel like I've waited my whole entire life for you. And now that you're here, I don't want you to leave. Debra Morgan, will you marry me?", Mostly real emotions, just not for her. I have waited most of my life for my Reunion with Dexter, and now that he is in my life again, I'm never going to let him leave. But Deb doesn't need to know that right now.

"I knew you'd fucking do it!", she gets in between laughs and squeals.

"Is that your version of a 'Yes'?", because in romantic movies, the man always waits until the official 'Yes'.

"Yes! Yes! Yes, but-" Hell no!

"No, no, no! Stop at yes", you filthy cunt "I like that word"

"Yes, but let's slow it down. Let me savoir this. I want to be with you, I want to enjoy it. So it's a yes, but..." I'm not sure if that means she's staying or going, but I'm hoping on staying.

"Okay, yeah, I get it"

"You do?"

"No, not really, but I can work with it", I'm being really flexible as of late. I usually act a lot more worse when a plan goes south.

"Okay, good, good, good" and she breaks into another laughing fit. "Oh God, I can still wear the ring, right?"

"Yes, but, there is a condition. I know you have to go to work, but if you are going to wear the ring, we need to celebrate. One glass of champagne. That's all I ask" Come into the cabin of the boat. It's private there. No one will hear your screams from there. I want to enjoy this moment too.

"Rudy..."That will probably be the last time anyone calls me that

"I mean it, you can't leave your sort-of Fiancé out on a yacht with a cold meal and unopened bottle of champagne. That's kind of cruel. ", I lay the guilt on thick. Anything to get her inside the boat and out of public eye. "Just one glass of champagne, to celebrate. And then you can go back to saving Miami from the Ice Truck Killer.", I end it with my best puppy-dog eyes.

"I can live with that", she grabs me and pulls me into a kiss. That's right Deb, come closer. I break the kiss and lead her to the inside cabin. Private. Hidden from the world.

She explores and is in awe. It is a nice boat. "This yacht is amazing. I didn't know you went for stuff like this"

"You have a lot to learn about me", and she will. Because now we are hidden from the world. No one will hear her screams. I have no shame in telling her. If my plan fails, and she gets free, there is no longer any hope for preserving my innocents anyway. I'm going to be connected as the Ice Truck Killer in a matter of days, maybe even hours. "Did your phone ring?", I thought I heard it from the other room. She better not have told anyone where she is. I need every second of them searching the waters that I can get right now.

"Yeah. Big brother. I let it go to voicemail, he can wait till we are done here", I wonder what Dex could want. Knowing him, he's already onto me. He's smart like that. That's good, I want him to go searching before the cops.

"Good. I want you all to myself", I say as I bring over two glasses of champagne to where she sits. "So, let the toasting begin. To what comes next." The Reunion that is, not our never-to-be wedding. We tap glasses and she takes a drink. I just pop an old cough drop into my mouth. Let's see if she'll get the hint.

"You're not drinking", she complains. Enjoy you last moments bitching and whining Deb. I just kiss her, forcing her to acknowledge my cough drop. We pull apart soon though. I don't want to waste time on a make-out session. "Tastes like menthol. Which, as it turns out, is not that sexy", she reaches for the wrapper. The same kind that she found all those months ago.

I stoke her neck as she begins to frown. "What the matter?"

"Nothing, just bad memories", and she moves into an upward spooning position, allowing me to hug her from behind. My ideal strangling position too, what a coincidence.

"Oh, that's right, the one clue the Ice Truck Killer left behind, right?" Something Rudy Cooper isn't suppose to know. But that's okay. Deb can know the truth now. She won't have to chance to tell anyone, and how I crave to see her face twist in pure horror. I place my arms tightly around her. In a way some would see as loving and protective. For me, it's just getting ready to strangle her.

"Right", though her voice reflects worry. She knows something is wrong. "Wait, how'd you know that?", and she begins to put two and two together.

"I don't often make mistakes, but when I do, they haunt me.", I wonder how she'll act. I bury my face into the back of her shoulder. Affectionate for some, a position to maximize body strength when strangling for others.

"That's hilarious", denial. She knows who I am. She just doesn't want to. Doesn't want to embrace what that means. That the last few months dating Mr. Perfect was all an elaborate lie. Mr. Perfect really hates you, Deb. And he's about to kill you. You will die. She tries to casually remove my arm from around her neck, but I don't let it budge. "Your champagne is going to get warm", she tries to change the topic to something that won't force the realization onto her. God, how I love to watch a person suffer mentally. This alone is almost worth the months of torture putting up with this woman. But the Reunion is at the head of this all. This is only a small appetizer of the freedom and power to come.

"You know, there is one thing I've been dying to ask you. How did you not know who I was?", it always amazed me how just the right words and facial movements makes for a perfect boyfriend, with or without the love. "You're a cop..." I continue. If she doesn't want realization, then too bad. It's time to open your eyes Deb.

"This isn't funny", she's angry. She thinks this is a joke. It's a natural reflex, trying to protect herself. It's still pathetic.

"I think a real cop would at least have a sense that she was in the presence of the person she was hunting. Right?" And I begin to strangle.

"You're hurting me", she vainly gets out, still trying desperately to cling to the delusion that I love her.

"I built the freezer myself", I tell her, to add more evidence to the undeniable.

"Stop it!" and she begins to struggle.

"Refrigerated room", not a refrigerated truck.

"Oh God, why are you doing this?", she struggles harder. She doesn't know yet. About Dexter. That'll be a fun surprise to wait for. She'll see Dexter, think he's there to help her, and then I'll come, and we'll plunge the knife into her together.

"The tricky part was getting you on the boat", and my God, that was harder than it should have been. It should have been easy. Getting your girlfriend onto a boat. "The other ones I just paid", if only Deb was that easy. "But, in the end, you made it easy. So desperate to fall in love...", and I stroke her hair with my free hand. She cries and begins to slow in her struggle.

"Stop...", is the last word she manages to get out before she stops moving completely. Good, she is out. Took her long enough. I duct tape her wrists and feet together, then sling her across my shoulder.

I bring her to the upper deck and reach into her pocket to get her cell phone. It will have to be ditched once they are able to figure out where it is. The cops need to be searching the seas, and we are going out to sea. I turn on the boat and away we go. It's a good night. Yesterday was crappy, but today ended up well. After all that shit yesterday, I persevered. For you, Dex. After a while Deb's phone rings, and I take a look. It alerts me that Deb missed a call from Dexter. He's worried about Deb. He's just confused. I'll set him straight at the Reunion. Then he'll know that Deb isn't his real family, I am.

I throw the phone overboard. Don't feel hurt Dex, it's for the better. Soon I'll be with you, and then you'll understand.


	12. Born Free

I sail out for a while, when I decide to do a quick inventory check. Deb is awake, though thoroughly duct taped to a pole. If I forgot or missed any supplies, now would be the time to find out, so I can adjust my plans accordingly. She is hyperventilating, it's quite annoying. I put my gloves on and turn to her. "Is the tape too tight? You know there is no point in you being uncomfortable.", I love messing with her head. To weave in and out of my real self and the lie I presented to her. To prove to her that this is my true face.

"Why are you doing this?", she still doesn't know. Of course she couldn't magically figure out I'm Dexter's real brother. But that will be a fun surprise for later.

"I don't want to spoil the surprise", I say as I zip open my bag. The boat serves two purposes. First is to throw the cops off my trail. If they are looking out to sea, they won't focus on land. Secondly, I don't want to run the risk of Deb escaping or someone seeing anything. But the thing is, I want to get onto land a little bit later, when it won't be so suspicious to be carrying a girl crying for help around. Everything looks worse at night.

I empty the bag and start examining the items making sure I have all my tools. A saw, a drill, knives, some tubing just in case...Deb starts crying and repeating 'Oh my God' over and over again. This must all be very traumatic for her. And it's barely begun.

"Shh! I'm just checking supplies, okay?" With all my plans going astray as of late, I can't take anymore chances. "Things are moving a little bit faster than I planned", a lot faster. Almost too fast. I sort through my killing tools, making sure everything is there.

"This isn't you.." Did Deb really just say that?

"Pretty sure it is." Yep, this is definitely my true face. She just doesn't want to admit that.

"No, I know there's more. I've seen it", clearly she needs more help with this.

I lean in close and put that loving look in my eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you...", I whisper gently, back to being the perfect boyfriend. Only this time she knows what is behind that mask.

"I know, I know...", she whispers back, grasping at the little shred of hope that I gave her. The hope that maybe the person she knows and loves really does exist.

"Does this make it easier for you? Because I can keep going", and just like that, I slip the mask off again.

"Oh God, Jesus...", I sigh and shake my head. When will she be done with this whole panicking thing? It's getting old. "Oh Jesus Christ", I know Deb isn't religious. One minute listening to her foul mouth will tell you that. But I wonder if she is just randomly saying words to show her fear, or if she is really praying. If that part of her brain that begged me for help has given up and moved on to begging God. Doesn't matter, God has never helped any of the past women before, and I doubt he is going to step in now.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of Deb. I mean, you're not the only one who bought it, okay?" Really, I hope she isn't taking this personally. Sure, I hate her, but I hate everyone. It's not like she chose to replace me as Dexter's sibling. Life just dealt her a shitty hand. One that put her in my path. It happens.

"Your name isn't even Fucking Rudy Cooper, is it?", she was able to figure that out, but why did it take so long to admit that everything else was fake too?

"Nope. But he died for a good cause", the Reunion is a very good cause. Some people want to eat, others want a home, I want my brother. What's so bad about that?

"You're not going to get away with this. I'm not some invisible hooker, you kidnapped a cop!", she points out. As though I don't know that. Hell, I'm planning on it. I gave Dexter a hint, that screensaver, but that alone won't set him in the right direction. He needs the doll to signal him home. The doll in my home. The only way he can get into my tightly locked up house is when the police get in to search it. And the police won't do that if they don't suspect me of kidnapping a cop.

"It's all part of the plan", I tell her truthfully. "Jesus, it's hard to believe it's almost come to fruition." It's almost time for the Reunion. It's just hours away. "I mean, this is a lot of years in the making", years searching for my brother, building my life to get close to him and working undercover. It's all for him. I don't care about this fake life, it's just another stepping stone to brotherhood. I look at my watch. "We are only hours away", the time has come. The Reunion will be soon. Dexter will learn, understand, and the world will become right once again.

The boat floats off at sea. They'll look for it. They'll see that Rudy Cooper rented a boat, and they'll spend hours looking for that boat. I get my tools and Deb and place them in a life boat. They'll find the yacht eventually. But they'll find it empty. I get on the life boat and turn on the small motor. The yacht isn't where Dexter will be. He'll hear the song and when he finds the same song in my record player, he'll take note of the doll. He'll link them. He'll have the hidden piece that snaps the jumbled mess I left behind to focus. Then he'll know where to go. Home, sweet home.

No, the yacht is a diversion. The sea is not where I'll be, it's on land. Dexter remembers our mother's death, but not her life. Not me. The house will change that. It's sure to jog some memories. Memories of me this time. We were always inseparable as children. Any memories he has are bound to contain me. And then he'll be led out of Harry's lie and into the truth, with me.

Deb doesn't say anything. She just lies there. Has she given up? Her eyes are open, and she's breathing. Normal people are hard to understand sometimes. She is still alive, and that's all that matters. It's not time for her to die yet. That'll come in just a few hours. I like this change. She isn't crying or screaming anymore. It's more peaceful.

It's daytime by the time I get to land. Honestly, that yacht cost me a lot of money to rent, I'd like more safety in the case of an emergency than just that little life boat. It took hours to get anywhere.

But land has been sighted. A small marina, seemingly empty. I slowly approach it in my infuriatingly slow boat. It'll really mess things up if Dexter gets to the house first. But I check my watch and it's still early. I have time. Plenty of time to set things up. This game has been rocky as of late, but for all my worries, things are turning out perfectly.

I get to the marina and look around. Now I need a car. I can't just leave Deb. She is awake, silently crying. She is still bound, but she can hop. With my two legs, it probably won't be too much of an issue, but I don't want to give her the chance. I don't wander more than ten feet from the boat, glancing back frequently. More just to let her know that I'm watching than to actually watch.

A middle aged man in a suit is on his a boat near by. All alone. I turn back to Deb. She is watching me. Good, I want her to see this. To watch me kill a man, to see what I do first hand. I walk up to the man who is busy tidying up. A fellow neat freak, have to respect that. Not enough to spare him though.

I step onto his boat and walk up to him. I extend my hand to him. "Hi, my name is Rudy".

He looks confused, but the manners that society has forced into him forces him to take my hand "Fred", he introduces himself. I grab the closest heavy object, a metal fishing box and slam a corner against his head. I can hear Deb's muted scream as she begins to panic again. Great, back to that. I was kind of hoping for a quiet terror. I reach into Fred's pocket, who is now lying down bleeding through a big hole in his head. I get his car keys and turn to the parking lot. I press the remote and there's a beep. God, I love technology.

The Marina and parking lot are small and empty. Perfect. I carry Fred, now dead, to the car and open the trunk. Good, it's nice and roomy. Room enough for two people even. I return to Deb who is still in panic mode. "Up", I tell her. Carrying all these people around is taking a toll on my back. But she just goes back to stringing together 'God', 'Jesus', and 'Christ' with a wide array of cuss words. Great, looks like I have to carry her too. Fred's dead, so he has an excuse for not being able to walk, but Deb is just being rude. I pick her up and sling her over my shoulder. She is screaming now. I swing my free hand up and hit her in the head. "Hey! No screaming. We are in public now, so don't make a scene", she doesn't stop though. So I drop her on the docks and reach into my tool bag. I pull out some duct tape and tape her mouth shut. How long have I been wanting to do that? Too long. I look around to make sure no one heard. No one is even within hearing distance.

I grab the bag and sling Deb over my shoulder again. Much better. I leave the boat behind, left to drift to sea. All the less evidence that I'm on land. I throw Deb in the trunk along side Fred and I close it. I get into the driver's side and throw my bag of death on the passenger side's floor. With that, I drive out of the parking lot. Away to 1235 Mangrove Drive. I check the time again. It's hardly past ten. Dexter won't get there for a few more hours yet. But then he will come, and we'll have our Reunion. It'll be great.

Yes, the plan is coming together perfectly. I had my doubts, but this all worked out nicely. I reach into my pocket and pull out a granola bar. A great energy boost when hiking, having a long day at work, or kidnapping a cop. Today is turning out to be a good day. Of course it's a good day, today will be our Reunion. How can today be short of anything but wonderful?

I turn on the radio. Classical music fills the air. It's cheery and fast, though I can't put a name on it, so it goes perfectly with my mood. I tap my fingers and sway my head to it. Today is a good day indeed. But I hear something else. I turn off the radio so I can identify it. "Let me out! Let me out!", sounds like Deb got the duct tape off her mouth. "Let me out, you piece of shit! Let me out!", I shake my head and roll my eyes. Honestly, all she is doing is wasting her breath and annoying me. Like asking me, nicely or otherwise, to let her out will work. I signal and pull to the side of the road. The side walks are empty. I seem to be near a warehouse, so that would explain it.

I park and grab my duct tape out before stepping out of the car and walking to the end of it. I open the trunk and she yells, "Fuck, let me out!", the strip of duct tape only sticking to her right check. I tear it off and replace it.

"Sorry, but you're drowning out Fred's radio, and he was kind enough to lend us his wheels." She continues to scream as loud as she can through the muffling tape. "Bye", and I close the trunk and continue on to 1235 Mangrove Drive.

Finally I get there. It was a good hour drive from where I landed. I park on the side of the street and go around for Deb. I grab a blindfold and open the trunk. She is crying again, and trying to scream. Duct tape is still intact. I tie the blindfold on her and she screams her muffled screams and cries her vain tears. She is going to die now. The sooner she accepts that the better. I lift her out of the trunk and stand her up. I'm tired of carrying her around. It's time she starts hopping. Because I taped her thighs together, she can even manage a slow walk. I grab my tool bag and guide her to the shed beside the house. The kill room.

I won't make the same mistake I did with Tony. This time I'll set her up just the way Dexter likes. I turn on the light, my hand still on Deb's back, guiding her. "Down on the floor please", I instruct. Kindly, too. It doesn't make any difference to her. She hops-runs blindly around until she hits a wall. She is still trying to scream. She can't be thinking right now. This is all primal instincts, telling her to run. She runs as best she can with her thighs taped together to another wall. She is blindfolded, she has no idea where the door is. So she runs around, hoping to find an opening of some kind. I wonder how aware she is that she won't find one. "This is kind of foolish Deb", I say right as she slams full force into another wall. I wince. That must have hurt. She turns around and goes for another wall. When she gets close to me I grab her and kick her legs out from under her.

She falls and wiggles around a little. She won't be able to get back up, not the way she is bound. I reach into my bag and pull out a needle. "I don't usually work this way", I inform her, as though she is even able to process words through her panicked mind. "Call it homage to a fellow traveler I greatly admire." I tell her as I plunge a needle into her neck.

She goes out quickly. I stare over her motionless form. I can see why Dexter likes that, it's so easy. Puts them right out. I go to the corner of the room where I already bought the proper supplies. Plastic wrap, lots of it, and a white table, just the right dimensions for Deb. I strip her naked. She might be offended, but my God, how many times have we had sex? I haven't changed, her knowledge about me just grew. I place her on the table and tie her down with the wrap. Turns out a little goes a long way, because there is a large excess. No matter, better to have too much than too little. I roll a smaller, mobile metal table towards me. I carefully place all the tools orderly on the table. Everything must be perfect for Dexter. The time is almost here.

Everything is right. I refill my needle. You never know, and this M-99 stuff works great.

I return to the house. I'm nervous. It's almost time. Dexter could be here any minute. The Reunion could be in one minute or in one hour. I don't know, and the lack of control only fuels my anxiety.

Or never. I doubt and second guess my plan. What if Dexter doesn't get the hint? What if he doesn't come? What if he thinks it's a trap? No, he'll come. If not for Deb, for curiosity. I think after all these months, he'll give me credit for having his best interests in mind. I've broken into his apartment several times, if I wanted him dead, I could have done it.

But I'll never hurt Dexter. Not my little brother. My last tie to this world. I try to think back to my life before Dexter. I wasn't even out of my twenties when I began looking. I remember all those years ago, wondering if he was like me. I never let myself fantasize about it. The thought seemed too good to be true. So I told myself it wasn't.

I knew though. I knew it was true. I looked for years for him. Why else would I have spent so long hunting down a person? I wasn't even sure what I would do when I got to him. Show him I'm a killer, but there was never any point in that, and I knew it. He would turn in revolt, and I would meet rejection from the one person left on this world that I care about. But still I looked, I hoped.

And it was. Dexter is just like me. The forbidden dream. And so I wait. The Reunion is at hand. Everything is set, waiting. I sit at the kitchen table to wait. Faded yellow walls, dust, all the tell tale signs of time. But the house still looks exactly the same. The same, yet different. Just like how me and Dex will be. The same brothers who would do anything for the other, but bigger, older, and blood thirsty.

I stare at the faded walls blankly. I might find it boring, but I'm too excited right now. A break to think is welcome. The past two days went by too fast, I had to act, not think. I don't like that. I make mistakes when I act without thinking. But now I think. Or I try. My mind is scattered. Part of it looks at the house around me and remembers what use to be. Another part of me dreams of what will be in the long term. That leaves very little thought power for the immediate future. Of what I'll say to Dexter when he gets here, how I'll word things, or if I even will need to.

Fear shakes me. What if he doesn't remember? If he doesn't get some suppressed memories back. Then I'll just be the guy who took Deb. I won't be his brother. He'll kill me. The very thought hits me hard. Because I know he would, being the Ice Truck Killer and potential killer of Deb will put me on his table. I lean back in the chair. My breathing gets heavier and faster without my will or consent. I'm hyperventilating, and it disgusts me. I close my eyes and slow my breathing. Even if he doesn't remember, it's not like he'll barge in and start hacking. He'll question me, ask me what I want with him. And I'll tell him. That I'm his brother, this is his house. I'll do and say whatever it takes to remind him. I'll just cross that bridge when and if I get to it.

A car engine hums outside, and I shiver. He's here. It's time. The Reunion. Brotherhood. Freedom. My thoughts scatter. I can't think. Half of me wants to run out and hug him, the other half wants to hide under the dining room table, fearing he won't remember. Instead I just lean back in the chair and take a few deep, calming breaths. He'll remember, I just have to have faith. Faith in Dexter, I can do that. I glance out the window. Dexter is there, oh God, he is _here_, staring out into space. A memory? Please be remembering. Remembering me, us, brotherhood. The look on his face says it all. He does remember, he knows, he won't kill me, he'll return to me.

I have to get out there. Greet him. He is my brother after all. I shift in my chair, still nervous as hell. I slowly get up. My legs are weak, yet yearning to move. To return to my brother, show him I'm here for him. That I'll always be here for him. Forever.

I walk slowly towards the door. The doorknob is cool, and it feels good against my over-heating hands. I step out to find Dexter staring intently. Remembering. Happier memories this time, no panic attacks. "You remember now?", I ask. Of course he does. That look on his face tells me so. He's mine now. We are together again. He won't leave or run. There are no more questions left to be answered. Now, we are reunited. Brotherhood at last.

He looks at me in awe, amazement, like he did as a child. His eyes are empty now, cold and emotionless, but that is what makes our bond all the more stronger. We have the same eyes. "Biney", is his reply. I smile. Perhaps he doesn't remember everything quite yet. He knows enough though.

"You always had trouble saying 'Brian'", I give him my real name. I say it out loud for the first time in years. Because there will be no more lies between us. We are brothers again.

"I have a brother", he says it with such astonishment that my next statement seems almost unnecessary.

"A real brother. None of this foster bullshit.", and I know my gaze is a mirror reflection of his own. For so long I've stared at him with longing and hope. Wonderment and awe. He never knew why. And now he himself is doing it to me. I've never forgotten about him, but the idea of him still takes my breath away. A person to be with. Travel with. A blood brother. "We are blood brothers. Through birth and death. Watching mom die. It's amazing that we survived that, isn't it?" I'm sorry for so rudely reminding you about that memory, but it was necessary. I'm sure you understand now. Grateful even. "The chainsaw. The flying body parts. The blood", and he looks down and begins to shake. Right, he has had less time to deal with that. That's okay. He'll get through it, and I'll help.

"You were there too", of course I was Dexter. That was where we were reborn.

"Two days sitting in blood before they found us", I recall, walking up to him. "You were young enough to block it out. I have never forgotten the day that we were-"

"Born", he finishes. I gape at his ability to understand. At the fact that I don't have to spell things out for him like I do for all the other people. He knows, understands, because he is the same. We are the same.

"Exactly", my _God_, how amazing this is. The way he knows and understands. It's amazing. Perfect.

"Where's Deb?", his mind goes back to his current task. What does he want with Deb so soon?

"I thought we'd want to wait before we got started", and how I wanted to kill her so long ago. But I waited, and now, her death will be all the better. Still, Dexter takes off for the house and I follow.

"Debra!", he calls as he frantically runs around the house.

"She is not in here", I inform him. Does he still hold ties to Deb. No, this is just Harry talking. His brainwashing still lingers.

He doesn't listen though. He just continues to run through the house. "Deb! Debra!", he shouts, as though she'll respond. He is clearly not thinking straight. Just an automated reflex put in by Harry.

"This is not the way I envisioned our family Reunion", I tell him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little hurt. But it's okay Dexter. It's just Harry talking. This isn't you. I'll fix you, free you completely from his lies. You just need a little bit more help. "Come on, let's just sit down and have a beer", I try to reason with him. The sooner he calms, the sooner he will start thinking again. And once he is thinking, we can completely banish Harry's mark left in him.

"Deb!", he calls as he runs into what was once our room. Clearly, he needs help calming down. But that's okay too. Because I'll help him with whatever he needs. I grab the needle and a pang of guilt goes through me. I never wanted to drug him. I walk behind Dexter and plunge it into his neck. He begins to fall, but I catch him, slowly easing him to the ground.

"I didn't want to do it this way", I whisper into his neck such honest words. No, I didn't want to be so forceful with you Dexter. I hope I never have to do this again. But I'm sure you'll understand once you wake up. Harry still has a strong hold on you. Don't worry, I'll break that hold.

I rest my chin on his neck as I gently and tenderly lay him down. I lay his head on my lap and check his pulse. I don't like the way his body went so limp. It's too similar to a life-less body. But I find his pulse. It's strong, and I feel relieved. I already knew that this stuff isn't lethal, Deb could be seen as a guinea pig for that, but it's still powerful. I bend down further and rest my forehead against his. As children, I was always hugging him. It was just my resting state, my arms around him in some way or another.

I still enjoy it. Thirty years later, and my arms are still around him. Holding and protecting him. With young children, it looks cute, but as grown men, I'm sure people would read more into our relationship. I rest my cheek against his, pulling him closer. Society be damned. I don't care if America is so homophobic that any male contact is seen as gay. I want to hug my brother. And besides, being gay is a lot more morally acceptable then killing people. If anyone ever saw our true selves, they'd probably be more concerned about the chopped up bodies than any possible homosexuality.

Still, Dexter doesn't remember a lot, so he might not be comfortable with the hugging. I respect him too much to do something he wouldn't want. I pick my head up and gently carry him bridal style to the dining room table. He's heavier than most women, but that's okay, because he's my brother. I'll carry him however far he needs to be carried. Luckily, this time it only means across the house.

I softly lay his motionless form into the chair. He begins to fall to one side the second I let go. I quickly move to hold him in place. I don't want him to fall. Get hurt. I stroke his hair. No, I wouldn't want him to have a bump on his head.

I grab the duct tape with one hand while using the other to keep him in place. I duct tape him to the chair. I need to talk to him, to calm him down, before we continue. I can't have him running around again. I need him still. Because when I told Deb that I needed to talk, I really meant to Dexter.

I use most of the remaining tape, but soon Dexter is securely sitting in the chair. His head is down and he is sleeping. The police will search and search, but they won't come here. They'll look for the boat, then they'll look into Rudy Cooper's past records, trying to figure out where he would go. Then they'll learn Rudy Cooper died years ago. And then they'll be left scratching their heads. They'll have to search for days to get another lead. Maybe Fred's family or someone spotting me. By that time me and Dex will be long gone.

To what? The post-Reunion was always a little bit hazy. Freedom, the open road, killing mercilessly. Or maybe we'd start a new life somewhere else. If he feels the need to remain undercover I can do that. Anything for Dexter. Really, he'll be the one to decide what comes after.

I turn my attention to the TV in the living room. I wonder how the police are doing in their man hunt. I look at Dexter. I don't want to go to far from him. I pat him on the head "Don't worry little brother, I'll be right in the next room", I tell him, even though I know he can't hear. I wander into the living room and turn on the TV. I don't have a lot of furniture, so there isn't any sort of chair or couch in the living room at all. I grab the only unoccupied chair at the dining room table and bring it to the living room.

I flip through channels until the news comes on. A perky blonde with a serious face. "More on the Ice Truck Killer case. It appears that the prime suspect has used the alias 'Rudy Cooper'. Police are unable to identify his real name.", A picture of me enters the upper right screen. They got a good picture, I look nice. "Whoever this man is, he is believed to be armed and dangerous. If you see him, stay away and call the police immediately. Under no circumstances approach this man, it is believed that he is mentally unstable. In other news..." and I click off the TV. Looks like the police are officially in the middle of shit creek and currently lack a paddle.

I have to say, I like it. After so many years of pretending, it's nice to be recognized as who and what I am. A monster. I'm armed and mentally unstable, they say. I'm not armed, I don't know where they are getting that information from, and I don't think I'm mentally unstable. I'm more stable than most people even. I always have a plan, everything I do is thought out and structured. I just want different things in life. My priorities are abnormal, that's really all it is. I want my brother, that's all. And if that means people die, then that's okay.

My brother. I look back into the dining room. He is slumped over, just like I left him. I still feel sorry about the drug. I grab the chair and return it to its proper place. I look around the house, remembering. The hallway where we would play cars. The corner where the rocking chair was, where mother would put Dexter to sleep when he wouldn't fall asleep on his own. The spot in front of the TV where me and Dexter would watch TV. I remember watching 'Wile E. Coyote' with him. He would ask what the Coyote wants with the roadrunner. I told him he wanted to eat him. Dexter thought it was mean of the roadrunner to not let the coyote eat him.

The kitchen table where we use to hide under and pretend it was a castle. Dexter would like to pretend to be a dragon, but I would end up hugging him, and he would get mad. The knight doesn't kill the dragon with hugs, and I tell him that I didn't want to kill the dragon, and asked if we both could be dragons.

They say that sociopathy is mostly genetic, and rarely caused by environmental experiences. I have to wonder if that is the case. It could be either one with us.

It's dark now. Dexter will wake up soon, and I have to be there when he does. I grab a beer out of the frig and sit down, opening it. I turn the light on, and it shines directly down on the table. It gives limited light, but enough. I remember the dinner I had with Dexter. The steaks and beer. Really, I just wanted to do something like that again. Talk a little bit before the action.

But we will talk. Dexter was just confused. The lies Harry told him still cling to him. I'll set him free though. I sit and wait for him to wake up. It's another hour before he wakes up though. That's okay. My brother can sleep for as long as he needs.

He slowly lifts his head and looks at me, confused and groggy. He looks down at the tape. "Nothing personal. I just wanted to have a beer with you before we started", we need to talk a little bit first, to gain an understanding. "You made that kind of difficult...", but that's okay. He was just confused then. He's calm now, ready to understand.

"Sorry", he apologizes. Why? Does he think it was his fault?

"You don't ever have to apologize to me, Dexter", and he doesn't. There isn't anything that he could ever do to make me angry. He's my brother. "For who you are. For anything you do", because we are the same Dexter. Never again will we be alone.

But his mind wanders. He looks around the house. I join him in reminiscing. "Looks just like it use to, doesn't it?", and we make eye contract again.

"Who does it belong to?", does he think I'd take him to our old home like this if someone else owned it?

"Me. I got it for you actually", I finish. Just for this. The Reunion. So he'll remember.

He seems to ponder that. His mind is still fuzzy from the drugs I think. "I'm more of an apartment person", Harry really drove in the need to joke and kid. Harry and his lies.

"You are trapped in a lie, little brother", and I'll set you free. "The same lie they tried forcing me into."

"They?", that's right, he doesn't know what happened to me after mother died.

"Doctors, therapists, group leader. What a family they were..." I was robbed of my family. How I hate them all for their lies. They claimed to love me, to care for me and want to help me. They wanted their money. Their money and to tell me what is right and wrong. They told me that I was sick, and that I needed help.

"You were never put up for adoption", it's a statement, not a question. A brutal, cold, mean statement. I was locked up and forgotten. I thought they even threw away the keys sometimes.

"Afraid not. You were three. A little bird with a broken wing. First cop on the scene; Harry Morgan. There to make you all better..." to take you away from me, to lie to you, brainwash you. "But me. I could see it in his eyes. All he saw was a fucked up kid. They all did. Something about me...", I whisper softy at the end.

"I didn't even know you existed", That was all part of the lie Harry fed you.

"Course you didn't. Harry wanted to keep you all to himself", to lie to you so you could be manageable. All part of taming the lion. "And while you were being raised by the Morgan family, I only had a memory of a family", you.

"Me", and how synchronized we are. Our minds work almost exactly the same, even after years apart and completely different childhoods.

"Mom always told me to look after you", even though she never had to. I always did anyway. Even if she told me not to, I'd still make sure you were alright. "Imagine how I felt when I tracked you down and found out you were exactly like me", just think about it for a moment Dex. Embrace and understand how I felt.

"I don't have to imagine", he states with a smile. I lean back and smile. This is going perfectly. He knows, he understands. We are united as brothers once more. It's time for a little bit of celebration.

I get up and grab a knife off the table. His eyes widen briefly and I feel like scolding him. Doesn't he get it yet? I'm his big brother. I'll never hurt him. Instead I cut the tape, freeing him. That's what I'll do. Free him. I kneel down right next to him so we are at eye level with each other. Equals.

"I know what you've been going through all those years. The isolation, the otherness, the hunger that is never satisfied.", I grab his hand with both of mine, glad when he doesn't pull back. "But you are not alone anymore. You can be yourself. With me. Your real, genuine self. " his eyes are unfocused as he thinks about it. Sees the beauty of it. "Takes the breath away, doesn't it?" He doesn't say anything, but he looks over to the cracked door leading to the hallway. His eyes are distant again, and I wonder if he is remembering. I hope so. Remember me Dexter. That is where we would play cars.

He turns his look back to me, and he has the look of awe and wonder. With something new this time. Affection. He places his free hand on my hands. An agreement. Understanding. The very embodiment of our Reunion. And how it feels great.

I let go of his hand and gently place mine on the knife. I slide it over to him and put it in his hand, my other hand still resting on his. "I think we are ready for Debra", I whisper. He doesn't understand, but he trusts me. I can see it in his eyes. Brotherly trust. I stand up, leaving the knife in his hands. I trust him too.

He stays seated though. Things are moving fast for him, I know. I hate to rush things, but we can't leave Deb waiting forever. Especially with the cops after us. So I grab his shoulders and start to caringly pull him up. He gets the idea and lifts himself out of the chair, the blade twinkling in the artificial light. Begging for the blood to come. I put a hand on his back and guide him out back. I'm glad he doesn't shy away from my touch. It says a lot about his trust for me.

We exit our old home together, and head for the shed. How symbolic. Leaving our old home together to enter our new, bloody world.

We enter the shed, and I close the door behind him. It's time. Our first kill together. He walks towards her, amazed at my work. His style, just not his hands. "I prepared her just the way you like." and I can tell he likes. The way he walks around the table staring, amazed at how intimate I am with the way he kills. With him. "This time we'll do it together", I explain my plan. He is still holding the knife. It'll have his finger prints on it. Everything will have both our finger prints. They'll find Deb and the tools, dust them, and realize that Dexter wasn't a victim, but an accomplice. Then the news will be blaring about _two_ armed and dangerous killers on the loose.

"Does it have to be Deb?", he asks softy, uncertain about cutting his ties with Harry. But he already knows the answer. Yes, it does.

"It's the only way", I tell him honestly.

"But she's my-"

"Fake sister. I know" He needs more help breaking that last hold Harry has on him. "Tell me something." I push the cart of tools against the table. "Your victims; are they all killers?"

"Yes." Just as I always knew.

"Harry teach you that?" And I already know the answer to that too. But this is for Dexter, so he'll realize how ridiculous this is.

"He taught me a code. To survive." For survival? Survival was only half of it. The other half was Harry's own selfish needs.

"So you're an avenger?" I ask as I walk around the table. Like it or not, that is what Harry turned him into. But it's still not him, just what he was taught. He needs to see that now.

"That's not why I kill." Of course it isn't. You kill because you are like me.

"You can be yourself around me", I remind him. He doesn't say anything, not sure what to do. "Who am I?", I need him to understand that Harry lied. That the code that Dexter clings to means nothing. Just some words spoken over a decade ago. It has nothing to do with survival anymore.

"A killer." he states plainly. I motion for him to continue. To elaborate on that thought. "Without reason or regret. Free", there we go. I survive without Harry's code. That code is just another lie.

"You can be that way too", and he will. We will.

"But the code...", as though that code means anything. I thought we were getting past that.

"Dex, you don't have a code. Harry did", I remind him as I walk up to him. "And he's been dead for ten years." I put my hand on his back and guide him back to Deb. She's waiting. "You can't keep him sitting on your shoulder like Jiminy fucking Cricket.", I laugh at how absurd the whole thing is. He laughs too. Good. Progress. "You need to embrace who you are now" He thinks about this, all of what I said, and looks down at Deb. She's ready. The code means nothing Dex, and you need to know that.

He turns back to me. "I don't know who I am", damn Harry and what he has done.

"Of course you don't. You've been away from your family since you were three. But I'm here now. I can help you. We can take this journey together." He looks down at Deb. Of course he doesn't know who he is. Harry has locked away what Dexter truly is. A mental cage, opened just often enough to keep the inner beast satisfied. But I'll let the beast out into full freedom. I'll show him the way.

"I can't. Not Deb." No. No, he can't be saying that.

"Oh, no, no, no. Don't say that", of course he can kill Deb. Deb is his fake sister. I'm his real brother. There's hardly a choice even to be made.

"I'm very...fond of her" A cold wave of fear washes through me, followed by a hot tremor of sheer anger. Anger of what Harry has done to Dexter. _My_ little brother.

"You can't be both a killer and a hero." My angry rises at what Harry has done to my brother. The level of brainwashing that goes so far deeper than I first thought. Down to his very core. "It doesn't work that way!", I yell. I'm lost in my anger. My plan is shattering and my mind won't work. Hate coils tightly in my gut.

Harry. That fucking bastard. My anger focuses at him. The one who took my brother from me, and did _this_ to him. He has to die. But he is already dead. I look down at his daughter, still half his blood. And Deb has messed with me enough to warrant being killed a dozen times over. I grab the knife out of Dexter's hand and get ready to stab Deb. Right in the heart. I raise my hand, gathering strength into my hand, tightly wrapped around the handle. I swing it down. But Dexter catches my hand right as Deb's eyes open. A hand pushes me back and against the wall. I drop the knife.

I see red. All affection and sanity leaves my body. I feel the need to hurt, to _kill_, something. I have Dexter in a head lock before I even know what I'm doing. Some part of my mind whines at hurting my brother, but then I hear the sirens. How did they find me so soon? My plan falls apart right and left. This is now life and death. Dexter wouldn't be found guilty of anything, he has the excuse of rescuing his sister.

With that thought in mind, the part of me that feels the need to protect Dexter at all costs gives way to my own selfish need to survive. I slam my knee against Dexter's face. My fear has taken over now. I need out. I go for the door to the outside, but then I hear voices. "Fuck...", I say as I leave through the back door. I lock it behind me and run, the last sight of the shed being Dexter crawling towards Deb, still on the ground. Hurt goes through me, but I don't give it the chance to take over. I run through the back and down into the tunnel leading out of the area. Something I put in place years ago for just such an occasion.

I'm torn. I'm running for my life. The cops are near, I can hear their yells. I run faster, my body giving into the fear. But my mind seethes. How dare Harry do that to my brother? Turn him against me like that! They think I'm a monster, but isn't Harry so much worse? He created the monsters in the first place. And then there is Deb. A little piece of Harry that took my place next to Dexter. How long I have waited to kill her, and in the last second she slips through my fingers. Harry instilled Dexter with the need to protect Deb. It was selfish, no doubt. Give your daughter her own personal body guard. Who gives a fuck about the body guard himself?

But underneath the anger is more. Hurt, at Dexter's rejection. Regret at hurting him, pushing him from me. I'm his big brother, yet I hit him. He was brainwashed by Harry, it isn't his fault he is living the lie. It's my fault. I failed in freeing him. And now look at me, running through the suburbs in the middle of the night. I look back at the blue and red lights in the distance. I slow to a walk. Less suspicious. That's become almost automatic for me.

I walk away from Dexter a failure.

I can't let Deb live. After all the failed plans, she needs to die. I need some sense of victory. Besides, after what I saw, Deb is in the way of my brotherhood. I can't expect Dexter to kill her. I have to kill her myself. I have to remove the rock from the path of brotherhood. I know where she'll stay too. With Dexter, of course. I go there, to his apartment. I still feel bad about the way I treated him. And I need a new plan. I pushed him away, and I know that. I take the blame. So I'm not the perfect big brother. But I still want to be a good big brother, and that means I can't give up on Dexter. I'll show him the way.

But first, Deb. She's a complication. I underestimated how deep Harry got into Dexter's mind. I thought I could pull Dexter free enough to kill Deb. I was wrong. She needs to be killed, and I'll have to do it myself.

So I watch Dexter as he walks around his bed room, making everything comfortable for Deb. She is sleeping in his bed, face down as she does. Dexter's lips are moving, but I can't hear him through the glass of his window. He is adjusting the curtains though. He sits on the bed and strokes her hair after he is done. Anger rises. He strokes her hair the way I stroked his.

It's Brian and Dexter, not Debra and Dexter. We are the siblings, don't you see, Dex? He turns the lamp off and leaves the room. He goes to his living room and falls asleep watching cheesy Christmas specials.

It's time for Deb to die.

I pick the lock easily. I walk over to Dexter. He sleeps peacefully on the couch. My brother. What has Harry done to you? I'm sorry I pushed you too hard and too fast. I understand. Everything happened too quickly. You didn't have enough time to sever the bonds, to break free of the lies. I wanted to give you more time, but I was rushed too. The best things in life take time, and our Reunion was suppose to be the best thing in either of our lives. But then it got rushed and spoiled. I'll make it up to you little brother. I'm tempted to hug him, touch him, show some sign of affection. But I don't. He's not drugged this time, he's just asleep. Easily woken.

So I move onto Deb. She is asleep in his room. She hasn't moved since my last visit. Soon she won't ever move again. I take a last glance back at Dexter and rush into the bedroom, anger rising yet again. How dare that bitch take Dexter from me?

I plunge the knife into her back as deep as I can. Only it's not a back. Too soft. I reach down and pull off the blanket. A dummy. Fake arms and legs. I spent my whole life making them, I should have known.

A trap, I realize with horror. Dexter isn't asleep. A sharp pressure rings around my neck and a warm body stands behind me. "Shit", I mutter, grasping at the cord around my neck. The knife falls to the ground. Not that it would do any good, I would never go so far as to stab Dexter.

"I stopped by your prosthetics lab after I left Deb at the hospital." Dexter whispers in my ear. Why, Dexter? Why? I try to get the cord off my neck, but it's unwavering. I fall to my knees. My world is starting to get fuzzy. My thoughts slow. "You do such great work, you even fooled yourself", Dexter whispers in my ear as I hit the ground. I whimper. "Sweet dreams Biney", drifts into my ear, but I don't have time to process it. My world has gone black.

The next time I wake up, it's cold. I like it. The cold. I stare up at the ceiling of my freezer, and I wonder if I fell asleep while working. But it's wrong. I'm shackled to the table. Not a good place to be. The sound of the door opening draws my attention to Dexter. He just walked in carrying a box. He has a look on his face. Affection, sorrow. As emotional as Dexter's face ever gets. "Hey", he says, a weak attempt at being casual.

My mind comes to focus, but the world around me just doesn't make sense, no matter how hard I try. He looks up, and almost looks sad. "You weren't suppose to wake up"

"I guess not", I whisper back. I can relate to Deb now. The way she tried so hard to pretend the truth wasn't real. Reality is hitting me. I just can't accept it. The world has come to clarity, I know what is happening. But I refuse to understand what is happening. I wish I didn't wake up.

"Sorry. Police recorded all your knives as evidence. Took a while to find your dinner flatware."

"Sterling", I say. I grasp for sense of causality. So this is how it ends. I refuse to be like Deb, fighting back reality. This is how I'll die. By my brother's hands. I hate the thought of death, but if I had to pick a way to be killed, this is it. I can't think of a better way, but that doesn't make this way hurt any less. "I keep it for special occasions." I tell Dexter, adding more to the conversation. I want to talk to him. At least grant me your companionship with your fury. If you do, then the Reunion was a success. That's all I wanted after all. Your companionship. Being by my side till the day I die.

"But you are", he moves back to the matter of my conciseness. "I can give you more tranquilizer if you want. It's a service I don't usually offer." He offers, and I laugh at that thought. At this scenario. At how hard I worked, how much I planned, and just how badly it all blew up in my face.

He looks confused by my laughter. Doesn't he get the joke? How things just fell apart. Maybe there is a God. Maybe the reason he let me live all these years is so that I can live through this hell. "Am I one of your victims now? Are you going to collect a little sample of Biney's blood for your slide collection?" I ask him, because I lost. Harry's hold on him is tighter than I could pull.

"You're not a trophy" and I take pleasure in the fact that at least he doesn't enjoy this. That he doesn't want to hurt me. "But you need to be put down"

"Why? Because of your code?", how Harry has poisoned you mind?

He opens the container of flatware. "For the safety of my sister.", he corrects. Doesn't he know? Whether or not Harry put 'Protect Deb' down as part of the code doesn't change the fact that it is part of the code. A lesson taught by Harry.

And I realize how little I did help. I showed him the truth about his past with me, but not the truth about his past with Harry. I did nothing to set him free. Instead I just blew it. I lost my temper when I should have been patient and understanding. A lifetime of brainwashing is not fixed with a good chat.

I deserve this. I've been a bad brother Dexter. I'm sorry. "She's not your real sister", I try vainly one more time to break him free of the lies. He picks up a knife, and I know what is coming. "She's a stranger to you and she'll always be one", I don't understand how Harry taught him that. To give up a real connection in favor of a fake one. Like Deb would accept Dexter like I do. For who he really is. He stops and stares sorrowfully at the blade in his hand. Maybe it's not over yet. If he can forgive me, I can forgive him. We're brothers after all. "I tried to help you by killing her"

"I know that!" He yells, and I realize it was vain hopes of a possible success. I'm going to die now, and Dexter will continue to live his lie. Harry's lie. How deeply has Harry gotten into him? How badly have I failed as a brother? It took me too many years to find him. I didn't even start looking as the first thing I did out of the institution. I had waited a few years first, living selfishly.

I should have broken out of the institution. I could have saved Dexter from all this brainwashing while it was going on. We could have been together, free, years ago. A tear escapes my eye. How messed up is all of this? "You should know how this isn't easy for me" he whispers. I do know, Dex, I do know. And I hate how Harry, even ten years after his death, is forcing you to do this. He's too deep in your mind. I can't take him out Dexter, you have to do it yourself. He leans in close and continues. "You've done more to deserve my knife than anyone", only it's not your knife. It's Harry's, don't you see? Don't you understand?

But I can't bring myself to say that. It won't do any good. Because I can't fix you, Dex. And I'm sorry for that. He leans in all the way and presses his forehead against mine. It feels good, this contact. I remember the days of our childhood. How he would get scared of the dark and come into my bed. He'd say that the monster will get him. I'd tell him I won't let any monster ever get him. And then he'd be a warm presence in my bed for the rest of the night. But I lied. I did let a monster get him. Harry got him.

I'm glad, though, that I can feel his warmth one last time. My little brother. "You're the only one I ever wanted to set free." He tells me. He just doesn't understand. Like a hamster running around and around in it's wheel. I'm so sorry Dex...

If this whole game is to go to naught, to be wasted effort, I want to at least leave him one last thing. Perhaps one day he'll realize what I mean. "You're the one who needs setting free little brother", he sobs. Please don't cry Dexter. I don't like it when my little brother cries. "You're like a butterfly. You can be what-" and all I see is a flash of silver before my throat is cut open.

I love you little brother.


End file.
